


The Apple Pie Life

by kikicecchetti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bakery, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikicecchetti/pseuds/kikicecchetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and Castiel Milton could not seem more different. Dean is a traveling construction worker and Castiel a distance runner who owns the local bakery. And yet everything changes the moment Dean walks into Castiel’s Coveted Cakes & Pies for the first time, and the serendipitous encounter leaves both wanting more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel loves Thursdays. All in all, they’re his favourite day of the week. A lot of good things happen on Thursday.  
  
Thursday means the long run. Waking at five a.m. while the small town sleeps around him and running the five miles to the lake and the five miles back, all in time to shower and dart downstairs to open the shop promptly at eight.  
  
Thursday means the deliveries from the suppliers. Thursday means he’s almost gotten through the week.  
  
Thursday means apple pie.  
  
The air is heavy with the humidity of the early morning as Castiel begins his run at a slightly faster pace than normal. In his head, he is rolling dough, and peeling apples. The pavement is unyielding beneath his feet, and as he crests the small hill at the end of the first mile, Castiel finds himself ready to hit the trail that lies at the end of his third mile.  
  
Thursday means solitude. Once Castiel’s feet hit the dew-moistened earth of the lake trail, the sun is just beginning to lighten the skies into dark purple and pink pastels. Castiel takes note to dye an icing those colours for his cousin Uriel’s wedding cake.  
  
The sun’s rays finally burst over the horizon when Castiel sees the lake. The celestial body’s blinding light reflects and refracts off the water into a dazzling array of golds and yellows. Castiel’s eyes squint in reaction to the sudden light, and he feels a smile tugging at the side of his lips. It’s Thursday.  
  
The birds sing in the tops of the trees as Castiel turns the final bend of the trail and begins to leave the lake behind him. Filtering through the foliage are pockets of warm light and each time he passes through a patch of sunlight, he shivers in pleasure at the warmth.  
  
Reaching the end of the trail and the beginning of the black asphalt, the town lying before Castiel is completely changed. There are stirrings of movement, cars in the street. Workers headed to the construction site nearby steer their large trucks around him as he continues into the last 5K of his run. Glancing at his watch, he’s made his best time yet. Of course, it’s Thursday.  
  
The houses on the outskirts of the main road through town are small cottages in bright, happy colours, and Castiel always loves running by them; he wishes all of his runs took him by this part of town, especially since one of the quaint yellow townhouses has a new tenant. Castiel has been trying to steal a glimpse at the new arrival for a few weeks now. But other than the moving van he saw in the driveway a month ago, he’s not seen as much as a stirring in the house.  
  
But today is Thursday.  
  
As Castiel rounds the corner that precedes the townhouses, the sun is burning off some of the heavy moisture in the air that has made Castiel’s shirt stick to his long, lean runner’s body. The sun is to Castiel’s back as he runs westward, almost a full ten minutes ahead of his normal pace, when he notices the door of the middle yellow townhouse open slowly and a man steps out onto the porch.  
  
As the man with the light brown hair descends the steps to the driveway, Castiel notices his long bowlegs and, even from this distance, those electric green eyes. He throws his tool-bag into the bed of his truck sitting next to a black ’67 Chevy Impala. As Castiel runs past the house, he makes eye contact but quickly diverts his gaze. The man nods in Castiel’s direction as he climbs into his truck and drives off in the direction of the construction site.  
  
Once Castiel reaches the storefront for Castiel’s Coveted Cakes & Pies, he bends over, putting his hands on his knees and draws a few deep lung-fulls of air. The cars driving past create a pleasant breeze every few seconds which caresses Castiel’s overheated body. Opening the door to the side of the storefront, Castiel bounds up the stairs to his apartment above.  
  
There are no words to describe how Castiel feels after a run. Especially Thursday’s long trek in solitude. Running gives him time to think, a break from everything in his life. In those quiet moments, nothing else matters and Castiel feels completely free. As he showers the sweat and dirt from his body, he closes his eyes and immediately sees the face of the bowlegged man. Unwillingly, a smile tugs at the corner of Castiel’s mouth.  
  
Unlocking the front door to the bakery, Castiel flips the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’ and absentmindedly flicks the lights on. Walking by each case, he makes notes of which pastries he will be featuring today, but he is mostly focused on apple pie.  
  
As he opened almost a full thirty minutes early, Castiel is afforded a small amount of time alone. He grabs the components for his pie. The flour and sugar from the cupboard in the back kitchen, bags of apples from the pantry, the brown sugar which has already turned hard as a rock, and the secret spices that make his apple pie the best in town.  
  
He is already rolling out dough at the station just behind the front counter when the bell above the door jingles and announces the arrival of Castiel’s first customer of the day. Looking up from his handiwork, Castiel sees Mr. Moore studying the pastry case.  
  
“Good morning, Mr. Moore,” Castiel says, wiping the flour off of his hands onto the apron tied around his waist. Castiel is already pouring his coffee when he gets a reply.  
  
“Castiel,” he says fondly as Castiel hands Mr. Moore his cup of coffee and the pastry he had pointed out. Mr. Moore sniffs the air as he fumbles with his wallet. “Apple pie?” he asks, handing over a five-dollar bill as he continues to sniff the scent that wafts from the oven in the back where Thursday’s first apple pie is baking.  
  
Smiling, Castiel hands Mr. Moore his change. “The first one’s in the oven. Would you like me to save a piece for your wife?” Castiel knows that Mr. Moore’s wife’s health is deteriorating, and he remembers that she has always loved his apple pie.  
  
“That would be great,” Mr. Moore says with a measured tone as another customer enters the bakery. “See you, Castiel.”  
  
The morning rush starts immediately after Mr. Moore leaves, and Castiel finds himself running a bit behind on his pies. The first comes out of the oven a perfect golden brown, and the apple filling bubbles gratifyingly between the lattice of crust on the top. Placing the first pie on the pastry case to cool, every piece is sold before ten a.m.  
  
Castiel catches up on his pies between the hours of ten and twelve. It’s always slower after the morning rush, and Castiel finds himself getting lost in thought as he mixes up another batch of pie crust. He refills the pastry case and brews a new pot of coffee before the lunch crowd arrives.  
  
The first person to enter for lunch throws the door open with much gusto. “Good morning, Cassy!” It’s Gabriel.  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes and returns to his work. “It’s afternoon, in case you haven’t noticed.” His brother is still wearing his clothes from the day before and he looks like he had a wild night. “What do you need, Gabe?” His brother has that mischievous look in his eyes that always means he wants something from Castiel.  
  
Gabe throws a scowl of mock offense towards Castiel, but still proffers his request. “I was thinking,” Gabriel boosts himself up to sit on the counter next to the cash register as he speaks. Castiel raises his eyebrows disapprovingly, but Gabe is not phased. “You could probably use someone to help with the customers and run the register.” Castiel stops his work and looks towards his brother warily.  
  
“What did you do this time?” Castiel asks, knowing that this meant his brother had done something to upset his boss…again.  
  
“Nothing,” Gabe answers quickly, an innocent look forming in his eyes. “It’s not my fault that old geezer has a totally Victorian outlook on sex.” Castiel does not prompt Gabe any further; he really doesn’t want to know.  
  
“You can help out until you find another job,” Castiel relents. Jumping off the counter with a sigh, Gabe has a self-satisfied look on his face.  
  
“Thanks, bro.” Gabe says as he begins to leave the bakery.  
  
“This is not a permanent thing!” Castiel calls after him, but he is already out the door. With a frustrated humph, Castiel returns to his work, and his frustration melts away as his hands knead dough absentmindedly.  
  
The sound of a throat clearing starts Castiel out of his reverie. His eyes immediately shoot in the direction of the sound, and he almost drops the rolling pin in his hands as his gaze meets a pair of stunning green eyes. “Umm….uh…” Castiel stutters like an idiot as he forgets how to function for a moment. Wow. That glance from a distance this morning did the bowlegged fellow no justice. He is beautiful.  
  
“Hello,” Castiel says, once again walking away from his baking to approach the counter. “Can I help you with something?” Castiel is trying his best not to look overly interested.  
  
The man looks at him with a questioning expression. “You ran by my house this morning,” The man says with a heart-crushing smile. Castiel laughs nervously and nods his head. “I’m Dean, by the way.”  
  
“Castiel.” He replies, as Dean extends his hand. His firm grip and calloused hands feel deliciously rough against Castiel’s palm. At hearing Castiel’s name, Dean’s face brightens.  
  
“So this is your place?” He asks, looking around at the small, humble bakery. Castiel smiles politely and nods but doesn’t open his mouth, not trusting his ability to speak. Dean approaches the counter and leans against it. Just as he does, a timer beeps shrilly from the kitchen and Castiel quickly excuses himself to go take his pies out of the oven.  
  
When he returns, Dean is still standing at the counter, eyeing the pastry case with a pleased expression on his face. “So what do you recommend?” Dean asks as he watches Castiel place the pie on the top of the case. His eyes widen as the steam wafts off the fresh pie and floats to Dean’s location.  
  
“Thursday is apple pie,” Castiel says, motioning to the pie.  
  
Dean smiles wickedly and nods his head. “Apple pie, then.” he says. Does Castiel imagine it when he catches Dean looking him up and down out of the corner of his eye?  
  
When Castiel cuts a piece of pie for Dean, the thick filling oozes out onto the plate. “It’s still hot,” Castiel says as if he were speaking to a child, and immediately wishes that he was not the most awkward human being in the world.  
  
As Dean hands Castiel the money he once again flashes that million dollar smile. “I think I can handle it,” he says in a teasing, deep voice.  
  
After Dean walks to a table in the left corner of the bakery to eat his pie, Castiel retreats to the kitchen, stealing furtive glances at Dean from around the kitchen’s door frame.  
  
Dean’s shirt is dirty from manual labor; his face bears scruff from a few days without a shave, and, all in all, with his faded blue jeans and worn plaid shirt, he is probably one of the most attractive men Castiel has ever seen. Watching him take the first bite of pie, Castiel feels elation rising inside him as Dean closes his eyes to savor the taste. Dean’s eyes glance towards the kitchen, and Castiel hides himself once more.  
  
Trying to be inconspicuous, Castiel re-enters the front of the bakery and resumes working on more apple pies. The clinking of silverware against a plate suddenly stops as Castiel hears a contented sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean stand and begin walking towards the counter.  
  
Breathe, Castiel. Just breathe. Stay calm.  
  
Placing the plate on the counter with an exhale as he pats his stomach, Dean raises an eyebrow and nods approvingly as he puts money in the tip jar next to the register. “I’d have another piece if I didn’t have to get back to the site,” Castiel can hear true regret in his voice. “That was seriously the best apple pie I have ever had, and I’ve had a lot of pies.” Dean laughs and Castiel feels his cheeks getting warm.  
  
“Thank you,” Castiel says modestly, unable to look Dean in the eyes.  
  
“I’ll definitely be back,” Dean says, and it sounds like a promise.  
  
Castiel really likes Thursdays.  



	2. Chapter 2

It really was the most amazing piece of pie Dean had ever ingested. Driving back to the site, he keeps imagining the warmth and bitter-sweetness of the filling perfectly offset by the sturdy crust which he knew had been hand-prepared by the bakery’s awkward, yet attractive, owner. Dean has to admit that he was intrigued by the man he saw running as he left the house that morning. He had noticed the specks of mud on the back of his lean, defined calves. If he was muddy that meant he had gone down the trail that loops around the lake.

“God-damn.” Dean says aloud to the empty truck as he realizes that from the bakery, around the lake and back totaled to something like ten miles. For a guy who can make a pie good enough that it would make you slap your mother, he’s in amazing shape; and those eyes, a deep ice blue that makes Dean think of those documentaries about the Arctic that Sam made him watch, with the frigid marine water taking on a glorious translucent blue.

Before he knows it, Dean is parking his truck at the site. Reaching for his white hard-hat he lets out a long sigh. This certainly isn’t what he wanted to do with his life. Hard labour all day and going home to a now empty house. He’d tried it. Living with a girl, settling down. But, as always, it turned to shit immediately when both Dean and Lisa figured out that Dean has serious problems staying in one place, and he is terrified of commitment and responsibility. So now he’s here, just like his Dad. Moving around where the work takes him. He’s on a month to month lease as it is.

It almost depresses him.

But he pushes those thoughts away. There’s literally nothing he can do about it now. He dons his hat, and slams his truck door with his foot as he fumbles with his orange reflective vest. He waves to the other workers, puts on a smile, and pretends.

*************

One thing Castiel can always count on is family dinners every Friday night during the summer. Closing the bakery early, the sun still burns brightly when Castiel walks out onto the sidewalk. The sun sets so late these days that it doesn’t get dark until well past nine thirty. The day clings to the sky, orange fading to pink and then finishing in a cool purple just as the night rises from the horizon.

Just as Castiel turns from locking the door, he immediately slams into an oncoming person. “Oh my God.” Castiel says in embarrassment, already feeling his brow furrow. He places a hand on his head as he feels a knot forming from where the person’s elbow hit him.

“Shit!” Castiel hears a deep voice shout. He immediately cowers.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel implores; knocked down by the impact, Castiel has a view of fraying blue jeans and sturdy work boots. As he raises his head, his stomach immediately knots.

“Castiel?” Dean’s voice is surprised. “Are you okay, man?” Dean asks as he extends a hand to help Castiel stand. Those electric green eyes are slightly clouded as Castiel feels him examining his body for injuries.

Once standing, Castiel brushes off his pants. “I’m fine,” He begins. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention where I was going.” His eyes are plaintive and Dean relaxes.

Dean glances at the door and notices the ‘Closed’ sign; his face looks slightly panicked. His eyes go wide and he knits his brow. “You’re closed?” His voice drops as the tone is permeated with disappointment. And, standing there, looking like a lost puppy staring at prime rib through a butcher’s window, Castiel realizes that Dean had returned for more pie. Something leaps inside Castiel as Dean has come through on that promise to return, albeit with awful timing.

“Yeah. I close early on Fridays in the summer.” Castiel informs Dean. “Big family dinners,” he further explains, readjusting the bag on his shoulder.

Something passes over Dean’s face at the mention of the family dinner. “Oh, well,” He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops as he rocks back onto his heels while looking at the ground. “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow?” He puts it in the form of a question as he finally makes eye contact with Castiel.

“You could always come to dinner,” Castiel says quickly as Dean begins to turn. He stops mid-motion to cock one of his eyebrows as his green eyes sharpen with tempered excitement.

“Thanks, but no,” Dean says as graciously as he can. “Too late notice, now.” He laughs, and though Castiel was initially, equally terrified and shocked that those words had come out of his mouth, a small part of him was clinging to some strange hope that Dean might say yes.

“My family is huge,” Castiel says with a smile he really hopes looks genuine and not forced through a formidable amount of anxiety. “What’s one more when there will already be at least ten of us?” Raising his eyebrows, he looks at Dean expectantly.

Pondering the question, Dean averts his gaze from Castiel’s hypnotizing eyes, trying to not think about the lean, toned body beneath his clothes. “Well, I mean…” Dean stumbles. “I don’t really have anything else to do. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Castiel knows his smile is real when he hears this reply. “Settled.” He says definitively as he begins to walk down the sidewalk with Dean by his side. The traffic on Main St. is dying down as it is already past six. Cars are parked in a grass lot of the First Baptist Church and a few children ride by on their bicycles with carefree laughter.

Unsure of what to say, Castiel keeps his mouth closed, afraid he’ll say the most awkward thing imaginable. However, Dean has a pleasant smile on his face and they walk in very companionable silence for a time. As they round the corner, Dean’s Impala is parked on the side of the street.

Dean’s face lights up. “Hey, baby!” He says, putting a hand on the hood. Shooting a smile in Castiel’s direction, he jingles his keys. “I’m driving,” He insists. Castiel eyes the car. He doesn’t know much about cars, but even he can tell that this car is treated with the upmost tender loving care.

Castiel raises his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, sir.” His lips curl slowly into a smile as Dean throws open the passenger door before scurrying around to the driver’s side.

The leather feels pleasant under Castiel, and though the car is in very, very great shape. It still has that lived-in, loved feeling. Castiel can tell that this car has seen many memories. When Dean turns the key and the engine fires to life, so does the Metallica tape Dean had been listening to. Dean laughs and bobs his head to the music that is very different from anything Castiel listens to. Turning it down to a reasonable volume, Dean turns, “So, where are we going?”

Castiel smiles at his enthusiasm. “Get on Main and head north out of town.” His parent’s house is just outside the city limits.

“Ten-Four.” Dean says jokingly as they pass the bakery.

Dean’s voice sounds full of adventure, his tone so…happy? Castiel wonders if Dean is actually pleased to be going to what is probably going to be slightly terrifying for him. Milton Family Dinners are all night affairs that are either glorious successes or monumental failures. With six children, someone in Castiel’s family usually has drama. But things have been quiet lately.

“So how many of you are there?” Dean asks, Metallica still playing softly in the background, the roar of the engine becoming white noise at this point.

Castiel laughs amicably. “Well, there’s Mom and Dad and six of us.” Dean’s eyes go wide, and he takes his eyes off the road to gawk at Castiel. His expression of total incomprehension is probably the most endearing thing Castiel has ever seen, and yet it makes him sad. He doesn’t even know if Dean has any siblings. “Yeah, six,” Castiel confirms.

“Wow.” Dean says, almost to himself, but he starts nodding. “That’s pretty cool, actually.” He adds. “Now, Castiel. That’s not a name you hear every day,” Dean’s not afraid to ask the question, and Castiel honestly appreciates his candor.

“Take the next right,” Castiel instructs before replying to Dean’s comment about his name. “Yeah, it’s definitely unique. But actually, my Mom and her sister have both named all of their children after angels.” Dean shoots a sideways glance at Castiel. “They’re not crazy nuts, I promise,” He assures Dean.

As a laugh rolls through Dean’s body, Castiel can see him relax. He wipes imaginary sweat from his brow dramatically. “Whew.” He says with that smile that makes Castiel happy he’s sitting down. “So, the others? Do they all own bakeries too?” He prompts good-humoredly, and Castiel begins to list off his siblings.

“Well, Michael’s the oldest, then there’s Raphael, Gabriel and Balthazar are fraternal twins, Anael is the only girl, but we call her Anna, and then me.” Dean seems like he is trying very hard to keep the names straight, Castiel laughs at his look of intense concentration. “Don’t worry, there won’t be a test or anything,” he assures in a joking tone.

“That’s awesome, though,” Dean says. “To have so many people in your life.” Castiel almost winces at Dean’s tone. It smarts with pain from an obviously very deep wound, and yet it is slightly wistful. It makes Castiel once again pray for a smooth dinner.

“It’s the next driveway on the left,” Castiel points to the red mailbox, and Dean slows the Impala to make the turn. A row of tall evergreens obscures the view of the house, which is at the end of a very long, gravel driveway. That house will always be home for Castiel, and the fact that it sits empty for ten months out of the year is heart breaking. But he definitely wasn’t going there tonight.

All the lights are on, and there are already people on the large wrap-around porch. Castiel scans the cars at the end of the drive. He surmises that Michael, Raphael, and Anna had already arrived. “You can park anywhere.”

Dean’s face looks suddenly nervous, as if actually seeing so many people is so much different than hearing about it. Castiel wants to reassure him, but he suddenly feels nervous.

It’s just The Family. Castiel reassures himself.

Finally parked, Dean shuts off the engine and removes his keys from the ignition in one fluid movement, and he turns to look at Castiel.

The day is starting to fade into that long summer afternoon that Castiel is so fond of. “They’re crazy, but they’re great,” Castiel says, and he hopes that they are more on the great end of the spectrum than the crazy one. But then again, the summer is winding to a close, and drama in the family, every year, always likes to cluster around the time just before Castiel’s parents are set to fly back to Cambodia, at the end of the summer. Gabriel and Balthazar’s absence is slightly worrying.

*********

There are so many people, and Dean is pretty sure that more are to come. The house is just like the one he remembers from Lawrence, from the life before his mother’s death. There is a wrap-around porch that extends to a large covered deck behind the house. Dean see a table set on the deck and a few people are gathered around a grill.

The man holding the spatula is tall and lean like Castiel, but his hair is composed of distinguished salt and pepper curls as opposed to Castiel’s raven-haired appearance. Dean assumes this is Castiel’s father, luckily he has an affable expression on his face, and Dean tries to calm himself down.

He and Castiel exit the car and he follows him up the stairs and through the door into a sprawling kitchen where a thin, athletic woman with long, silver hair is flitting around from stove to oven and back again sniffing pots and prodding things in pans. The smell is unlike anything Dean has ever experienced. Which actually isn’t saying very much considering that most of his meals are prepared in a microwave.

The woman looks over the black rimmed glasses perched on the end of her thin, angular nose and notices Castiel and Dean’s entrance. She claps her hands in excitement, a woman with fiery red hair starts and looks in the same direction; a large smile spreads across her face and she all but runs around the kitchen island to throw her arms around Castiel.

“Hey, Cas!” She exclaims, hugging him tightly. When she pulls out of the embrace, she notices Dean. “Oh, hi!” She says in a friendly, kind tone. “I’m Anna.” Extending her hand, Dean shakes it and is pleased to feel her very strong grip in return.

“My sister.” Castiel further explains and Dean smiles as the older woman also makes her way around the island to hug Castiel exclaiming about him not eating enough for all the running he does.

“I’m Dean, by the way.” Dean says to Anna as Castiel is being reprimanded by his mother that he is not getting enough protein in his diet. From the way she talks, Dean can tell she is also a runner. “Do all of you run?” Dean asks Anna as Castiel shoots them both a look that screams, Save me.

Anna chuckles softly. “Well, Mom’s always been a runner, but Castiel and I are the only ones who really do anymore. Michael and Raphael ran cross-country when they were in high school, but that’s pretty much it.” Anna explains.

Castiel finally extricates himself from his the scolding he is receiving and his mother follows him to where Dean and Anna are standing. “Mom, this is Dean,” Castiel says, gesturing in Dean’s direction. “He’s new in town.”

“Well, hello Dean! I’m Mary.” The woman’s voice is kind and welcoming. “I hope you like cheeseburgers,” she raises one of her eyebrows with a grin, and Dean flashes her a true smile.

“I’m already in love with you,” Dean says in a flattering tone as he points to Mary. She waves away the compliment and Dean watches the muscles flex in her arm that has literally no fat on it.

Mary turns to Castiel, her silver hair falling over her shoulder. “Why don’t you take Dean outside and introduce him to everyone?” She suggests. “We’re still waiting on Gabriel and Balthazar.” Castiel nods and hugs his mother.

“Good to see you, Mom.” Castiel adds before grabbing Dean’s elbow to usher him to the back door. Dean sees the love that there is between Castiel and his mother and it honestly touches him very deep. Her features soften when she looks at him, and his face is full of light when he lays eyes on her. There is a definite ache in Dean’s core.

The porch is enormous, once Dean and Castiel step outside. Smoke is rising from a charcoal grill, and laughter emanates from the group huddle around it. The sun is just dipping behind the tall pine trees which line the back of the property, and the temperature decreases to a comfortable level.

The last bright rays of the sun are glinting off of the older gentleman’s hair when the tall, dark-haired man next to him notices their approach. “Castiel!” He exclaims, and the two women and the two other men turn to look.

“Hello, Michael,” Castiel replies as they join the group. “Sarah,” Castiel nods to the blonde woman standing next to Michael that Dean assumes is his wife. The atmosphere on the porch is slightly more reserved, but still warm and hospitable. Another man, with hair dark as Castiel’s, extends his hand in Castiel’s direction. Taking it firmly, Castiel pulls the man into an embrace. “How are you, Raphael?”

Raphael shrugs. “Same old same old,” He says. “I’m up for review again next week.” There is an edge of anxiety in Raphael’s tone.

The woman next to him smooths her hair and pushes Raphael’s arm. “Always so modest,” She says before turning to Castiel. “He’ll finally be making partner.” She adds excitedly. The smile on Castiel’s face makes Dean’s heart melt.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel approaches his father who puts his arm around him. “How are you, Castiel?” He asks in a very deep, authoritative voice.

“I’m great, Dad.” Castiel reassures him before pulling out of his embrace. “Everyone, this is Dean.” Castiel introduces, and he goes around the circle for Dean’s sake. “This is Michael and his wife Sarah,” The brown haired man and the blonde woman greet Dean cordially. “This is my father, Abraham,” he gestures to the older man who nods in greeting. “And this is Raphael and his wife Clara.” Raphael extends a hand to Dean in welcome.

“Thanks for letting me crash the party,” Dean says with an endearing smile. “You have a beautiful home.”

Abraham nods politely. “It’s great to meet you, Dean. Everyone is welcome in our home.” Dean can’t help but notice the strange look in Abraham’s eyes. He can’t quite place the wariness he sees; it confuses him.

“So what do you do, Dean?” Michael asks as he puts his arm around his wife and pulls her close with a smile.

To be completely honest, Dean dreads this question. It’s really not that interesting of an answer. “I work construction,” He supplies. “I’m working on the site of the new shopping centre just south of town.”

The men nod in understanding and Dean really wishes that he had something more interesting to contribute. All in all, his life is, unfortunately, pretty fucking boring. “And where are you from?” Raphael asks next.

“Lawrence, Kansas,” Dean answers, a hint of pride swelling in his voice. “But my brother and I left when I was twenty-one and he was seventeen,” Castiel’s family seems fascinated by the fact that Dean left his family behind. “My mom died when I was fourteen, and my Dad moved around working construction. It was honestly a lot easier once Sam and I left.”

Castiel’s face looks surprised when he hears that Dean has a brother. But the rest of the details of Dean’s family life do not come as a huge surprise to Castiel. Just as they are getting over the awkwardness of the initial meeting, there is a huge commotion in the house, and the back door swings open with a bang as it hits the side of the house.

Two men, one with sandy blonde hair and the other with a light brown tone step over the threshold with massive, over-the-top smiles on their faces. “Hello, family!” The darker haired one calls. The blond man is silent, but he has a contented smirk on his face, and Dean knows that these are the twins.

Castiel rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm himself. Unfortunately, his attempts as calm are unfruitful as Gabriel and Balthazar’s eyes both zero in on the stranger. The blond’s light blue eyes are full of excitement as they approach Dean. “Well, well, well,” The darker haired twin says. “Who is this?”

Scowling at his brother, Castiel feels incredibly embarrassed. “Dean. This is Gabriel and Balthazar.” Castiel indicates that the blonde is Balthazar and the brunette is Gabriel.

“Nice to meet you,” Dean says.

“Oh no,” Balthazar says as a mischievous smirk turns the corners of his mouth upwards. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Almost unwillingly, the twins leave Dean and Castiel and approach their father reverently, after greeting him, they both tackle their older brothers with hugs.

Castiel is terrified that his family is coming across as completely eccentric and bat-shit crazy.

Dean is pretty sure that this is the best he’s felt in a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Dean notices about Castiel’s father is that he pronounces Castiel’s name differently than anyone else. Even Dean had pronounced it Cas-ti-el, with the emphasis on the final –el. But strangely enough, Abraham pronounces it Ca-stiel, with emphasis on the initial Ca-. It’s kind of weird, and Dean doesn’t really feel comfortable asking, and he certainly doesn’t want to ruin a perfectly good meal. He hasn’t had a meal with a family in so long that it has honestly become an alien concept.

The Milton family is welcoming as Dean stands around the grill. Gabriel and Balthazar are much more animated than their older siblings, and Dean has a hard time seeing how they could possibly be brothers of the very stoic Michael and the reserved Raphael. 

Dean sees the back door open in the corner of his eye and Mary walks out with a plate of freshly sliced lettuce, tomato, and onion for the cheeseburgers in one hand and a large bowl of baked beans in the other. The aroma of brown sugar from the beans radiates to Dean’s vicinity and he immediately is reminded of bitter-sweet apples and deliciously dry pie crust.

“Abraham,” Mary calls. “How are the burgers?” When Abraham looks at his wife, his eyes light up in a way that takes Dean by complete surprise.

“They’re ready,” He answers. “Someone bring me that plate,” He motions to a larger blue plate sitting on the long table.

Michael immediately hands his father the plate and Mary tells everyone to sit down. Dean has to basically run from Balthazar and Gabriel. Apparently their eagerness to sit next to him is not unexpected for Anna and Castiel who immediately flank Dean and take the two seats next to him. Dean chuckles.

Castiel turns his head at Dean’s laugh. “Sorry about that,” Castiel apologizes with a smile. “Gabe and Balthazar can be a bit too friendly at times.”

When Abraham takes his seat at the head of the table, the sun burns brightly through the trees at his back and illuminates the deck perfectly. The burgers in front of him are oozing with cheese and Dean is pretty sure he can see bits of bacon and melted cheese inside the patties. His mouth begins to water in anticipation.

Abraham smiles and surveys his family sitting at the table. His eyes stop on each member and when he looks at Dean his expression is welcoming and kind, but again, there is that wariness. “I’m glad everyone is here. This is a tradition that has come to mean so much to your mother and I. And I would like to welcome Dean.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees a small smile begin to spread across Castiel’s face. “So let’s give thanks and eat this delicious food.”

Dean expects the family to all take hands and bow their heads reverently as they listened to their father proselytize through a long and drawn-out prayer. But the family just bows their heads, only for about five seconds and then, they all burst into conversation and begin eating.

Castiel reaches across the table for the beans and Dean notices a large bowl of cole slaw that looks so good he actually is going to have some. “So, Dean, where did your brother end up?” Anna asks, as several conversations are going on around them and Castiel is speaking with Gabriel….something about a job? 

“Sam? He got a scholarship to Stanford, and now he’s in law school.” Dean is so proud of Sam, and he could never express that enough. But he found it hard to have a close relationship with him anymore, because, if Dean is completely honest, when he gets home after a long day of work, joints creaking, muscles aching, he wishes that he could have made that decision.

Dean is not stupid, contrary to popular belief. He can actually solve a Rubik’s Cube in well under two minutes, though he doesn’t admit that to a soul. He had to be strong. He had to take care of Sammy, and it didn’t really leave Dean with any opportunity to think about his own future. It was the last thing his father would say to him before he went away on a job.

Take care of Sammy.

“He’s got a girl, they’re getting married next year,” It probably takes more effort for Dean to keep his tone bright than is acceptable. “Jessica’s great,” He amends. “It will be great to have a sister. She’s definitely ready to become a Winchester.” Anna laughs. Her smile is wide and all flawless, ivory teeth. Her blazing red hair and piercing green eyes are so different from all of her siblings. Dean finds himself thinking that most all of them actually do look quite angelic.

While Dean is putting his burger together, Castiel finally finishes speaking to Gabriel and turns to Dean looking slightly frustrated. “Sorry about that,” He says, to them. “What did I miss?”

“Dean was telling me about his brother,” Anna says, and Dean is suddenly nervous and a bit overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia; he misses Sam a lot.

********

Castiel can feel himself perk up at the opportunity to get to know more about Dean, specifically about his family, but he doesn’t push the issue. It only seems fair, considering Castiel had allowed him to see his insane family, though, looking at Dean, he seems like he is enjoying himself; the look on his face after he takes the first bite of his cheeseburger seals the deal. He is having a great time. He closes his eyes as he chews the hefty bite. A contented moan of approval resonates in his throat, and Castiel finally relaxes.

The family speaks freely amongst themselves, but fall silent any time their father has something to say. It’s an interesting dynamic. “So this is only a summer tradition?” Dean asks Mary as she is sitting in her seat in silence. Castiel watches them interact out of the corner of his eye while he schedules a run with Anna.

Mary’s face softens at Dean’s question. “Abraham and I are only State-side for two months out of the year. We run a hospital and several remote medical clinics in Cambodia.” She takes another bite of her cole slaw and swallows. “We have great staff who take care of things during the summer, when aid teams are showing up. We get to come back and spend time with the children.” Mary looks fondly at Abraham and then at every one of her children.

For some reason, Dean is surprised. Not because Castiel’s parents are apparently saints; that he expected, but the fact that they are gone most of the year. From this short amount of time with the Milton Family, Dean is having a hard time imagining how they can possibly stick together while their parents are tucked away in the jungles of Cambodia. An ache shoots through Dean’s chest as he realizes that, most of the time, Castiel is alone as well.

“How long have you both been doing that?” Dean asks as he once again attacks the food on his plate. The sauce from the beans is seeping into the bottom of Dean’s hamburger bun, and when he takes the next bite of his burger, the sticky, sweetness combined with the bite of the mustard is really much more pleasurable than Dean would have imagined.

Mary contemplates the question for a moment; it’s as if Dean can see her mentally tabulating the years. “Well, Abraham and I went to Cambodia for the first time after Raphael was born, so I suppose that was about 35 years ago.” Mary’s radiant smile spreads beautifully across her face. “But we didn’t actually move over and open the hospital and clinics until Castiel was thirteen. The main hospital just celebrated its fifteenth birthday.”

When Castiel hears his mother refer to his time in Cambodia, his face reddens and he wants to crawl under the table and hide. It’s really not that interesting. Sure, it sounds interesting, but honestly…it wasn’t. He didn’t go swinging through the jungles or riding on the backs of tigers. His life in Cambodia was much more boring and mundane than anyone could realize; it had been so simple. That’s what made Castiel love it there, and, of course, that’s what made him leave.

Dean’s face is alight with curiosity; because, honestly, the fact that Castiel lived in Cambodia, a country Dean is pretty sure he would have trouble pinpointing on a map, is just the slightest bit awesome. Dean reflexively steals a glimpse of Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He is listening to their conversation with a peeved expression, his face the slightest shade of pink.

“Anna and I are doing a night run tomorrow,” Castiel says in his mother’s direction, and Dean can’t help but feel like the conversation is being turned. Mary’s face looks disapproving for a moment but fades into a look of contentment at her children’s plans.

“Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves,” She says lightly. “Your father has appointments and meetings all day, so I’m going to do the Twin River Trail starting early.” A look of slight jealousy passes over Anna’s face at the mention of the trail. Dean has never been on the trail, but it seems to have quite the reputation in Castiel’s family.

“So Dean,” A suggestive voice suddenly cuts into the conversation. “How’s the show?” Gabriel asks with an impish smile as he slowly licks a bit of mustard off his finger. Castiel is scowling, and the corners of Balthazar’s mouth are twitching upwards as he fights a smile.

Dean’s not really one to back down from a challenge, but the mischievous glint in Gabriel’s eyes is more than slightly terrifying. “The food’s awesome.” Dean exclaims as he shovels another helping of baked beans onto his plate, not looking Gabriel or Balthazar in the eye as he pretends to be intently focused on eating. Which really doesn’t require that much pretending when the food is absolutely delectable.

“Well, if you like meat…” Balthazar begins with a wicked smirk, and Castiel’s eyes widen in shock.

“You know, I was actually fine when I got here and you two hadn’t arrived.” Castiel says as his fingers accidentally brush against Dean’s hand on the way to grab the sweating pitcher of iced tea. It takes all of Castiel’s strength not to shoot out of his chair. He takes a deep, calming breath.

Gabriel shoots a look of mock hurt towards his brother and clutches his chest as he turns to the fairer-haired twin. “Aww,” He says. “I think Cassy’s jealous.” 

Fighting not to turn a deep scarlet, Castiel wills his face to remain calm and unmoved. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to let you help around the shop,” Castiel warns with a threatening cock of his eyebrow. “I do manage to get on just fine without you, you know?”

Dean can only laugh at Castiel’s tone, so jokingly serious as he tries to put his inappropriate older brother in his place. Gabe runs his fingers through his hair and assumes a contrived expression of penance which elicits a laugh from Balthazar.

Balthazar shoots a look of smug amusement towards Gabe and Castiel. “Really, Cas?” He inquires in a languid tone. “You’re going to let him work for you? I didn’t think you would cave.” He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, but Dean can see buried resentment bubbling behind Castiel’s calm, blue eyes. Balthazar has hit a nerve.

Mary begins to clear plates from the table and bats Dean’s hand away when he attempts to help. “Why don’t you show Dean the pond?” She suggests to Castiel who turns to see the rest of his family rising from the table for the brief interlude between dinner and dessert.

The family disperses slowly from the table with satisfied pats on their bellies and large stretches. Abraham, Michael, and Raphael make their way immediately inside and Dean watches as none of the other children even so much as glance their way or ask where they are going. Castiel is still fighting with his mother as she shoos him away from the table, balking at any attempt to aid her.

“Castiel Milton,” She scolds loudly, stopping mid-motion. “Do you want any dessert or not?” Her blue-green eyes are the perfect mixture of love and ferocity; Dean makes a note to never get in her way.

“Okay, okay,” Castiel relents, letting the silverware in his hand drop to the table as he backs slowly away. Turning to Dean with a bashful smile he nods towards the backyard. “The pond?” He suggests, and Dean thinks that’s a great idea.

********

Castiel and Dean descend the wooden steps of the deck and Dean follows as the other man leads him towards the tree-line at the back of the property. The last remnants of the bright afternoon are being massaged away by the thick, balmy darkness of the twilight. The sun is no longer visible over the horizon, but its light is still clinging desperately to the pinks and purples swathed across the gauzy clouds.

“So you lived in Cambodia?” Dean asks, interested. He’s never really been one who could tolerate long silences, except with Sam of course, and as he and Castiel walked in silence, he felt himself becoming more and more self-conscious and anxious.

Castiel knew it was coming; it always does. The inevitable questions about Cambodia. “Only for two years,” He begins, trying desperately to find a way to deflect the questions, or at least downplay his answers. “When Anna got her own place I came back to the States.”

The temperature decreases significantly when Dean and Castiel enter the shelter of the towering evergreens which denote the end of the the Milton land and the beginning of the woods. There’s only just enough light to see the way before them; Dean is certain that if he were alone, he probably wouldn’t be able to find his way as every moment the night sucks another iota of light from their surroundings. But Castiel seems to need no indication that he is on the right path; it’s as if his feet are programmed to pad silently through the trees.

“You didn’t want to stay?” Dean can’t tell whether Castiel’s terseness is simply due to the fact that there is not much to tell about Cambodia or if his intentions are more dubious; Dean is leaning towards the latter since Castiel’s eyes do not match the insincere smile on his mouth.

Biting his lip as he tries to figure out what to say, Castiel honestly just wants to grab Dean by the face and tell him to mind his own business. But wasn’t he the one who invited Dean here in the first place? Regardless, Castiel saw how his father was looking at Dean, and that makes the topic of Cambodia even less desirable.

“It wasn’t easy,” Castiel says enigmatically just as they emerge from the treeline and see a pond with dark black water sitting peacefully in the middle of the clearing; Castiel hopes this will distract Dean from his purposefully vague answer.

Mist wafts off the water and rises to disappear within the infinite leaves of the forest. As Dean and Castiel approach the small dock which juts out into the pond, Dean thinks he can even feel the warmth of the water which sat boiling in the hot summer sun all day.

“I bet you guys had a blast out here as kids,” Dean says, tugging on the laces of his work boots. He meets Castiel’s eyes which are filled with an expression of gratitude and nostalgia.

Smiling, Castiel follows Dean’s lead and removes his shoes before dangling his feet into the tepid water. Sitting next to him, Castiel steals sideways glances at Dean’s long, sturdy body. He is staring peacefully over the water before them and says nothing. Castiel never thought he could feel so perfectly comfortable in silence.

“There are a lot of memories here,” is all Castiel says in response to Dean’s inquiry about his childhood. That is a suitcase that will take much longer than they have to unpack, and honestly, Castiel isn’t entirely sure Dean would really want to hear about that anyway.

The water swirls gratifyingly around his ankles as Dean swings his feet back and forth. “Tell me about your brother,” Castiel prompts in his quiet, contemplative tone. It’s something that Dean normally balks at. It’s not that he hates talking about Sam; in fact, to the right person, Dean could probably get lost singing his brother’s praises for hours. Typically, however, when Dean mentions Stanford, the eyes of his conversational partner always widen in amazement and then turn to a patronizing gaze as they survey Dean The Construction Worker, always living in his little brother’s shadow. If only they knew.

“Sam’s four years younger than me,” Dean begins. Not looking Castiel in the eyes, Dean feels his face relax as images and memories of Sammy fill his mind. “He’s just my little brother, you know. He drove me crazy most of the time, but he’s done good for himself,” Dean stretches out his legs and hears an owl hooting for from the tops of the trees to his back. “Stanford Law, great girl. Sam’s always made the right choices.” Dean tries to steer his smile away from bitter and keep it to bitter-sweet.

“You looked out for him,” Castiel doesn’t ask; he states. And Dean is taken aback at his candor. When he finally meets Castiel’s wandering gaze for a moment, the look in his ice-blue eyes is an unreadable mix of affection and sadness, and Dean isn’t quite sure what to think of it. “Are you still close?” Castiel averts his eyes as he asks the question. For as close-knit as Castiel’s family seems, Dean can’t seem to shake the feeling that there is a lot that he has to learn about the Milton family.

Sometimes Castiel seems very lonely.

Dean is never quite sure how to describe his relationship with Sam; it’s especially difficult because whenever he is prompted to do so, his heart seizes painfully as his mind is transported to simpler times, which in retrospect were never all that simple. “We used to be,” He finds himself saying. The two men are staring over the dark water as the sounds of the night crescendo beautifully around them. “But in the end, our Dad and Sam butted heads and parted on not so great terms. After he got out of Lawrence,” Dean pauses to take a deep breath and shake his head. “We really only talk on special occasions now.”

Castiel chuckles softly and Dean turns his head to look at his face. “My family must seem very different,” He says with a darkness in his tone that Dean has a hard time placing.

“Well, you seem close,” Dean offers. “Especially since your parents live in Cambodia most of the year.” Staring out into the darkness, Dean begins to absentmindedly play with the laces on his boots. “Your siblings are great,” Dean adds with a laugh.

Castiel turns to face Dean and cocks his head to the side. They are great, and he knows it, but being part of the Milton family has never been something that was very easy, especially for baby Castiel. As his stare lingers, he surveys Dean’s face, the scruff of his beard, the set of his jaw, and of course, those peridot irises that don’t look away.

“Cas?!” A female voice calls from the other side of the trees. “Mom’s bringing out dessert!”

“Did she say dessert?” Dean asks as his eyes brighten substantially and a smile spreads beautifully across his face.

Reaching for his shoes, Castiel laughs at Dean’s one-track mind. “She makes even better pies than I do.”

Dean grabs his boots and quickly stands. “Well, we can’t keep a lady waiting,” He says with a smile, extending a hand to help Castiel to his feet.

Castiel really likes the feeling of their hands together. Probably too much.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Dean is polishing off his second piece of heavenly cherry pie, the festivities at the Milton house seem to be dying down. As the family begins to feel the weight in their full bellies, eyes become heavy and yawning is dangerously contagious.

Still sitting on the deck, Mary smiles politely and surveys her children around her. "Well, I think I'm going to call the night for myself." She grins towards Anna and Castiel. "Twin River Trail tomorrow morning."

Abraham stands as his wife pushes her chair from the table. The children follow suit. Slowly moving around to join his wife, Dean truly notices how he comports himself. Straight backed, proper, and, in a way, genuinely intimidating.

Even Gabriel and Balthazar stand patiently to bid good-bye to their parents, though their quiet whispering sounds rather provocative. Dean is the last to say his good-byes to Castiel's parents. Abraham extends a hand towards Dean and he can tell that Castiel's father is truly trying to conceal something from his expression.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean." He says as he firmly grasps Dean's hand and shakes it definitively. The man's eyes are the exact same hue as Castiel's, and it's more than slightly unsettling for Dean for some reason.

"Thanks for having me," Dean replies, purposefully maintaining eye-contact with the Milton patriarch who nods with...approval?

Mary pulls Dean into a tight embrace. "You're always welcome in our home." She says warmly as she dis-engages from the hug. Her expression is so genuine that Dean feels his heart wrench at the fact that this lovely, accepting woman shares her name with his own mother.

"Thank you," Dean replies, and a true smile spreads across his face. Castiel's feels something stir within him as he watches his mother interact with Dean. She has always been a life-line for him, and he has always missed her.

******

As Dean descends the steps from the kitchen door behind Castiel, the night, heavy with moisture, is decidedly cooler than it has been for the past few days as the summer draws to a close. Dean isn't very fond of Fall. It's always a bitter-sweet time, holidays, seeing Sam.

Being alone.

Castiel hugs his siblings before they enter their respective cars and depart. Dean notices that Michael and Raphael both shake Castiel's hand rather than embracing him.

The drive back is taken mostly in companionable silence. Dean rolls down the windows and tunes the Impala's radio to the local classic rock station rather than letting his Metallica tape play again. Castiel is staring out into the blackness of the night as Dean drives.

"Thanks for inviting me," Dean breaks the silence without taking his eyes from the road before him. He can feel Castiel's gaze on him as he sees him turn his head out of his peripheral vision, but he doesn't feel uncomfortable though Castiel's inquisitive expression is difficult to read.

Surveying Dean, Castiel smiles when he sees the other man stealing glimpses at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to seem less interested. "Well, after almost taking your head off with my constant distraction..." Castiel trails off with an impish grin, and he sees the side of Dean's lips twitch upward in amusement.

As Dean turns onto the side-road next to the shop, he laughs good-heartedly. "I guess you'll just have to have a really awesome pie ready for me tomorrow." He finally makes eye contact with Castiel's piercing, blue chasms which light up when his face softens. He looks down at his feet.

"I think I could manage that," Castiel manages and Dean moves to re-enter the Impala.

As Castiel mounts the stairs to his empty apartment, he wishes he'd had the courage to suggest Dean come upstairs for a beer. The dark apartment reminds him of his quiet, secret solitude, and after spending the night with his family and Dean, it's disheartening, and Castiel realises that he feels unfulfilled.

*******

Meanwhile, after several whiskeys, Dean finally falls asleep, unable to erase the image of Castiel's smile from the back of his eyelids.

*******

Castiel finds that he cannot sleep past about six, even as he lays in his bed, willing his eyes to become heavy and succumb to a deep slumber once more, he feels completely awake. Groaning, he rolls over and swings his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare-feet on the cool wood floor. There is a slight draft in the older apartment that Castiel has been living in for almost five years, and his body shivers against the cold.

The sun is still hidden, though the sky is slowly turning a lighter pastel indigo, anticipating the arrival of sunrise. Castiel stares out his window on the empty streets below his apartment as he pulls on his running clothes and quickly laces his shoes, and he certainly was NOT thinking of Dean.

The evening run with Anna was set to be ten miles, but Castiel's training calls for fifteen miles on Saturday, so as he bounds down the stairs and the heavy air hits him like a brick wall, he takes a deep breath and centers himself before taking off down the side-street next to the shop to the back road that runs parallel to Main Street. It's packed dirt and when Castiel runs on this road, he almost forgets where he is.

He can almost imagine that he is somewhere else.

Relaxing into his pace, Castiel gets lost in the sound of his feet striking the dusty road before him, in perfect harmony with the sound of his steady breathing. As much as Castiel loves to sleep, he loves to run even more. He started running when he was in Cambodia; exploring the jungle around his parent's compound, when he was running, it was almost the only time he had for himself. After he returned to the States, he was recruited to run cross country, but he found that racing held nothing for him, it is the peaceful solitude that he loves about running.

Cambodia. It has all been coming back to him since the moment he saw Dean walking out of his house two days earlier, and, to be completely honest, he's not entirely sure how he feels about it and what, if anything, he should do. If he and Dean continue their...friendship, he knows that Dean is going to want to know. He just hopes that it doesn't scare him away.

Castiel catches himself becoming caught up in his thoughts and he wills his brain to refocus on the sound of his feet and the pace of his breathing. The point of running is to get out of his head, focus on the fight, the pain, the complete and utter release he experiences when pushing his body to the limit.

It's almost painful for Castiel to turn off the dirt road and loop back to Main Street, he is itching to just run the entire fifteen miles this morning, but he has to open the shop eventually, and he has a pie to make.

The lights are still off when Castiel passes Dean's house, and he is simultaneously disappointed and relieved, but he still increases his pace to just below his threshold. For some reason, terrified that Dean will spot him again, he tries to tell himself that normal people don't wake up at six a.m. on Saturdays. Plus, Dean said he would be coming into the shop anyway.

When Castiel rounds the corner just before the shop, he increases his pace once more. At his threshold, he sprints the last few meters of his run. Placing his hands on his hips, he leans his head back and the rising morning sun warms his face as he takes in massive lungfuls of air. As is his routine, he takes the stairs two at a time, looking forward to his shower, and trying to decide which pie he is going to make for Dean.

It comes to him while he is washing his hair. The perfect pie for Dean. It's Castiel's signature Four Berry Pie. With blueberries, raspberries, blackberries and boysenberries, he's been told it is the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, with warm tones of liqueur and cinnamon mixing perfectly with the light aftertaste of the mint in the filling paired with a slightly sweeter crust than normal. It's been a while since he last made it, and he can't help but feel that this is a special occasion.

*******

At this point, opening the bakery and preparing for the day ahead is second nature to Castiel, requiring little to no conscious attention to the tasks at hand. As much as he wants to start in on Dean's pie, he knows that Saturday is the day that most people in town come and purchase their bread, so he quickly puts together a large quantity of sourdough in one of his industrial size bowls and places a towel over it, allowing the yeast to cause the dough to rise.

Humming to himself, Castiel looks towards the front of the store, it is still not eight o'clock, and he is in no hurry to open the shop early. The bright, morning sun casts shadows on the walls of the bakery and illuminates the small reading nook in the back corner which is a popular spot for students looking for a quiet place to study.

As the bread dough is rising, Castiel decides that since he is going all out with the Four Berry Pie, he might as well whip up a few of his other most popular items, it may not be Thursday, but Saturday is a fine day itself.

One of Castiel's favourite recipes is his pistachio muffins, which are an unusually pleasing light green colour with bits of chopped pistachios in the batter itself. Cracking eggs and pouring ingredients together, Castiel feels his head moving in time with his mixing as he whistles a nameless tune and he smiles more genuinely than he has in a long while.

Glancing at the clock above the entrance to the shop, Castiel notes that it is a quarter to eight, and he pushes aside the bowl of mint-green muffin batter and pulls the towel-covered bowl of dough towards him. The texture of the dough is pleasing as Castiel's long, deft fingers knead quickly, wanting to get the first loaves into the oven before he opens the bakery.

Having set his oven to pre-heat the moment he entered the shop that morning, he places each of the individual loaves of sourdough bread, the most popular variant, into the blazing oven. He returns to his muffin batter and separates the mixture into the tins he has already placed papers into and those find their way to the oven not long after the loaves of bread.

After placing the first batch of his creations in the oven, Castiel deems it time to open the shop, and he slowly walks around the counter to unlock the dead-bolt and turn the 'Closed' sign to 'Open'.

*********

For normal people, Saturday is one of the best days of the week, but when the sun's rays peak through the haphazardly drawn curtains in Dean's bedroom, all he does is squint his eyes and turn over with a grunt of disapproval.

What the hell is he supposed to do on a Saturday?

His eyes flutter closed once more and he pulls his blankets to cover his face, not in any hurry to get up and be reminded that he is alone and has absolutely nothing to do on a Saturday. But as he teeters between sleep and consciousness, in that foggy haze, he suddenly has a moment of clarity. A pair of crystal blue eyes appear in his mind's eye, and he quickly turns over, now completely awake, and looks at the large red numbers indicating the time on his alarm clock.

9:15

Throwing the covers off his body, his skin erupts into gooseflesh as he feels the cool air of his house rush against his bare chest. When Dean places his feet on the floor next to his bed, he has to kick away his clothes from the day before which he'd left lying on the ground next to his bed as he collapsed into a whiskey-induced sleep.

There is a dull ache sitting squarely behind Dean's eyes and while still sitting on the edge of his bed, he pushes his thumbs into his closed eyes until he sees explosions of neon greens and yellows on the back of his eyelids. Taking a deep breath, he rises to a standing position and rubs his right knee which twinges in protest to the movement.

But despite the pain from his abused body, Dean still has a small smile on his face as he remembers that he does indeed have plans for this Saturday, and those plans include Castiel and pie.

Dean flicks on the small radio sitting on the back of his toilet as he turns on the tap for the hot water and begins running the shower until he sees steam beginning to accumulate on the bathroom mirror. The classic rock station that the radio is tuned to permanently starts playing AC/DC just as Dean steps underneath the scalding water.

As he sings along with Back in Black, washing his hair, his mind keeps wandering to the soft-spoken, slightly strange Castiel, who Dean is still unable to fully understand. His family stuck with Dean, though. The way Mary hugged him so tightly, and even Abraham's final look of tempered approval lift Dean's spirits for some reason that he is unable to pinpoint.

But most of all, Dean is trying not to think about those sideways glances, those moments by the pond, and just how much his stomach had somersaulted as he spent time alone with Castiel, and just how much he really wants to get to know this fascinating baker.

After stepping out of the shower and toweling off, it takes Dean all of five minutes to throw on a random shirt with a pair of his sturdy blue jeans and grab the keys to the Impala. He's out the door and on his way to the bakery by ten.

Though he knows it is not possible, the drive simultaneously flies by and also slips by at a glacial pace. It's as if Dean isn't sure what to expect, or how he is supposed to act. He has to mentally slap and remind himself that he is simply going to the bakery. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing weird about it at all.

Except for the fact that they don't sell microwave dinners at a bakery, and if Dean's kitchen is any indication, his going to a bakery is actually probably the most out of character, strangest thing he's ever done. He laughs to himself as he drums his fingers on the Impala's steering wheel and he wonders what exactly HAD compelled him to walk up to Castiel's Coveted Cakes & Pies on Thursday.

As the roar of the engine cuts off and Dean sits on the side-road next to the bakery, he honestly has no idea.

********

The bell above the door announces Dean's arrival and a few of the people sitting at tables around the shop look up from their respective activities to survey the new arrival. Dean smiles nervously and looks to the counter expectantly.

Oh God, Dean thinks to himself when he sees, not Castiel, but Gabriel manning the register with a lurid smirk on his face no doubt due to Dean's entrance. For a moment, Dean contemplates turning around and just walking out. It's not that he doesn't want to deal with Gabriel, but the prospect of seeing Castiel and the pie he had promised Dean were really the only reason that Dean wasn't still intently studying the back of his eye-lids at this very moment.

"Dean Winchester!" Gabriel exclaims with an excited clap of his hands before Dean is able to duck out of the shop. Rounding the counter, Gabriel pulls Dean into a slightly suggestive embrace. "How good to see you again." Dean is surprised that Gabriel doesn't have diabetes from the sugar sweet look he is trying to pull over on him.

"Hi Gabriel," Dean says while extricating himself from Gabriel's overzealous display of affection. His eyes dance with possibility as he looks Dean up and down, obviously contemplating his next move.

Dean shoots a glance over Gabriel's shoulder towards the counter, willing Castiel to appear. Gabriel huffs and rolls his eyes when he notices, "Don't get your panties all in a wad," He says, pulling the wrapper off a lollipop and placing it into his mouth in a suggestive manner. "He's in the back." Dean hopes the relaxation he feels flood through his body is not visible, but Gabe rolls his eyes and turns to return to the magazine he had been reading at the counter.

"Ca-as!" Gabe calls Castiel's nick-name as if it were two separate syllables. When he gets no response within the first five seconds, he calls again, "Caaaaaaaaaaaaaas!"

"What, Gabe!?" Castiel's head pops around the corner of the entrance-way to the kitchen, a peeved expression matching the annoyed tone his voice hints at.

"Your friend is here," The way Gabe says the word friend makes Dean's stomach do that funny somersault thing again.

When Castiel's eyes notice Dean standing behind his brother, he immediately feels his stomach knot and a flush spread across his cheeks, something that does not go unnoticed by Dean. Castiel gives his brother a small shove as he makes his way towards the counter. Gabe's expression is absolutely scandalized as he notices the flour residue that Castiel's hands left on his dark shirt.

"You came," Castiel says, flashing one of those smiles that plagued Dean's dreams all night.

"Well, I've never been one to say no to pie," Dean says brightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Unexpectedly, Gabriel laughs without looking up from the gossip rag he is reading intently. "This is the worst flirting I've ever seen," He says with a sigh.

The other patrons of the bakery are glancing towards the commotion at the front counter, as Castiel once again punches his brother's arm. "How about you go and get started on a batch of blueberry muffins," Castiel prompts, his expression a warning to Gabriel.

Raising his hands in surrender, "Fine," Gabriel says as he turns from the counter and enters the kitchen. He winks at Dean before disappearing around the corner.

Castiel had moved toward the counter on the wall behind the register, and Dean watches as he opens a small convection oven and pulls out a pristine pie.

Approaching the pastry case, Dean's eyes are wide as an indescribable smell wafts from the pie to his nose. He closes his eyes and he can almost taste the pie already.

"My Four Berry Pie," Castiel says as he begins to cut a slice. "I kept it in the oven so it would be warm when you got here."

Dean doesn't even know what to say.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is so ready for that piece of pie. He is practically salivating as he lusts after it. Castiel laughs lightly as he places a dollop of something he calls 'clotted cream' on top of the piece. Just as he hands the cool plate to Dean, a clatter in the kitchen echoes around the corner.

"I better go see what he's broken now," Castiel says in a dead-pan with a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Just sit wherever," he adds as he begins to turn towards the kitchen.

Dean scouts for a table and decides to just sit at the first one from the counter. He can hear voices from the kitchen as he places the plate on the table, and he again notices that delectable piece of pie. The indigo filling slowly oozes onto the plate and the clotted cream has begun to slightly melt into the latticed crust. Dean starts wondering if he should wait for Castiel before taking his first bite. It was the pie that Castiel had baked especially, right?

He is honestly confused, and he doesn't like the way his heart almost aches for the acceptance and kindness that Castiel, this perfect stranger, has given him.

 _He doesn't deserve my shit_ , Dean thinks to himself. He's the fuck-up, the drop-out, and he's proven time and time again that Dean Winchester and commitment are totally incompatible. He's never been able to keep friends around for very long; he always ends up hurting them in the end. He breaks everything he touches.

Dean is just sliding his fork into the piece when Castiel emerges from the kitchen, with a light dusting of flour covering his body. He wipes his hands on his pants while shaking his head as he approaches Dean's table. "Sorry about that," Castiel apologises as he takes the seat across from Dean. "He might be my brother, but he is hopeless." The smile on Castiel's face radiates a happiness that Dean hasn't seen before. There's something different about today.

Dean feels Castiel's eyes intently watching him as he takes his first bite of the pie.

_Oh..._

Dean has never tasted a pie like this before. The crust is dry and flaky, slightly sweet, with a lemony hint to it. And then the filling...oh God...the filling. As Dean chews his teeth crush full berries which lead to an added burst of a tartness to the absolutely sinful filling. There is a complexity to the pie. So many flavours melded together that Dean can't even begin to decipher what they are.

All he knows is that it's awesome.

Dean closes his eyes as the 'clotted cream' provides the perfect tie-in to make that one bite feel like nothing Dean has ever tasted before. He doesn't know what the hell 'clotted cream' even is, but god-damn if it isn't perfect with this pie. He moans slightly as he closes his eyes.

When he opens his eyes, Dean sees Castiel trying to suppress a massive smile, causing his face to adopt a contented grin, as he watches Dean continue to eat the pie at a rapid pace.

"There's a whole pie over there," Castiel says with a laugh. "You don't have to eat this piece like it's the last in the world." At Dean's approval, Castiel feels his heart leap. Why does it make him so incredibly happy?

Dean chuckles through his mouth full of pie and finally wipes his lips with a napkin. "Dude," Dean says. "I don't know what you put in this, but it's the greatest thing I've ever tasted." Dean leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head with a sigh.

Castiel smiles modestly and bows his head slightly. "Thank you."

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"Well, I'd better-"

"Do you want another-"

Both Dean and Castiel speak at the same time, cutting each other off to stare in embarrassed silence. Dean begins to stand, moving slowly. "I don't want to keep you," He says with a grin. "Can't leave genius over there unattended very long," he motions towards Gabriel who is staring unabashedly at their exchange.

"No," Castiel says quietly, trying to keep his tone light. "He'll burn the whole place down if I'm not careful," He adds as he begins to move towards the pastry case to pack up the rest of Dean's pie. "Just let me put this in a box for you," but Castiel only gets to the word 'box' when he hears a thud on the ground and gasps from the few patrons in the bakery.

His and Dean's eyes both shoot towards the counter where the noise originated and see Gabriel lying on the linoleum with the back of his hand draped over his forehead in an overly dramatic rendering of a faint. Dean moves quickly towards Castiel's brother, but Castiel just rolls his eyes as he sees Gabe sneaking glimpses out of one eye.

"Hey buddy," Castiel hears Dean say as he kneels next to Gabe, lightly slapping his cheek. "You okay?" Dean inquires in a concerned tone.

"I do declare," Gabriel says in a weak voice punctuated by a ridiculously melodramatic accent. "It must be the heat in here," he closes his eyes again and takes a deep, deliberately shaky breath as he fans himself under Dean's concerned gaze. Castiel can see right through his pathetic facade. This is all just another scheme. But what is his end-game?

Once Castiel has approached where Dean and Gabe are located, he extends a hand to Gabriel, "Come on, drama queen," He says, which elicits a mischievous glint in Gabe's eyes.

Gabriel places his hand in his brothers and is pulled into a sitting position, and as he begins to stand, he staggers flamboyantly and dramatically sits back down on the floor. "I don't think I can even stay, Cas," he whines, and that glint in his eyes ignites like a fire when he finally exposes his ploy. "I guess, Dean will just have to help you for the rest of the day."

Castiel feels his face flush as he quickly tries to downplay what Gabe has suggested because his stomach knots and he feels a shock of pleasure race through his entire body at the though of spending an entire day with Dean because it honestly sounds like heaven, and Castiel is wary and frightened by the revelation.

Shooting a pennant expression at Dean, Castiel quickly backpedals. "Believe it or not, I've gotten along just fine without you, Gabriel. I'm sure Dean has better things to do on a Saturday than fill in for you."

Rocking back onto his heels, Dean vacillates between his two options. Which are pretty scant considering that apart from this trip to the bakery, the rest of his day was going to consist of drinking beer and working on the Impala, until he deemed it early enough to start drinking whiskey, at which point he would most likely sit on his couch and watch that vapid guilty pleasure of his: Dr. Sexy, MD.

Basically what he does every Saturday.

"I don't mind," Dean finds himself saying in a small voice as he forces his acquiescence through all of the voices in his head screaming how much he needs to get himself away from Castiel. As far as he saw it, that's what's best for that kind baker.

Turning his head with a snap, Castiel's blue eyes widen in surprise. "Really?" He asks, though he had initially wanted to wave off Dean's offer. He honestly didn't need the help, he was just helping Gabriel out by giving him this job. But something in his heart, something deep within him wants Dean there. For someone he's only known for three days, Castiel feels more comfortable with Dean than anyone else, and Castiel especially understands that this is not something you run into on a daily basis.

"I mean, only if you don't mind," Castiel adds, still silently praying that Dean will reiterate his offer and stay.

"Go home, Gabe," Dean directs towards the man on the floor. "I'll take over from here." The moment Gabriel hears Dean agree to stay, he jumps up quickly and makes his way towards the door.

"I'll call you when I'm feeling better, Cas," he calls as he is exiting the shop with a massive shit-eating grin on his face.

* * *

After the awkwardness of teaching Dean how to operate the cash register wears off, Castiel finds that he is very much enjoying the simple fact that he can glance out of the kitchen and catch sight of Dean. Every few moments he steals a glimpse of the man, still having to convince himself that this is actually happening. He wants to start a conversation, but in his anxiety, he can find no topic to bring up. So, he hides in the kitchen.

When the lunch rush dies down, the bakery is empty and Dean deems it acceptable to leave the register unattended and peek in on Castiel in the kitchen. The bakers back is to Dean, as he rolls out dough. With each push of the rolling pin, Dean can see the muscles in his back flex and relax through his shirt. He wears a simple white apron as he works, and Dean can't help but smile at the sight.

Suddenly Castiel turns to reach for the container of flour on the counter behind his workstation. He starts when he sees Dean standing in the threshold. He gasps and he presses his hand to his chest. "Oh...um...I'm sorry," He stutters, reaching for the flour. "You scared me. Is everything okay?"

Dean smiles as he watches a flush spread across Castiel's cheeks. "Everything's fine," Dean reassured him. "It's empty out there," He nods his head in the direction of the shop.

Castiel stands awkwardly on the white linoleum with the tin of flour in his hands as he contemplates what to do. He could tell Dean that he can leave now, but even as he thinks of it he feels a weight settle into his stomach, and an ache in the middle of his chest.

"Do you want to help me?" Castiel asks, looking down at his feet.

Dean laughs. "I'm useless in the kitchen, but I'm good at following directions," He offers helpfully as he begins to approach the workstation where Castiel was rolling out dough moments ago.

When Castiel moves to return to his spot, his arm brushes casually against Dean's, and he makes a point to not look into those enchanting green eyes. "See that bowl over there," Castiel points to a large stainless steel bowl with a white dish towel over it. "Could you knead the dough in there for me?"

As Dean reaches for the bowl, Castiel continues his rolling, watching the other man intently out of the corner of his eye. When Dean removes the towel from the bowl, he stares at the dough for a moment, as if he's unsure what his next move is.

Castiel looks down at the sheet of dough he was rolling out and notices that he has actually rolled it so thin that a hole has appeared in the middle, and when he notices his hands shaking, he sets down the rolling pin and moves towards Dean who is attempting to knead the dough while still in the bowl.

"Here," Castiel says, coming up behind Dean to guide his hands. "First you want to flour the surface," he puts a light dusting of flour on the board. "And then you knead like this," taking Dean's hands in his, he presses them into the dough in a rolling motion.

Dean can feel Castiel's soft hands tremble slightly as he teaches Dean the proper way to knead dough. The smell of the pastries in the oven is wafting towards them and the mixture of Castiel's proximity and that heavenly scent intoxicates Dean. When Castiel reluctantly lets go of Dean's hands, they continue to knead the dough on their own. "Like this?" He asks, while Castiel still stands behind him, watching.

"Yes, exactly," Castiel says with a smile in his tone, and Dean's heart leaps at the baker's approval.

Working next to Castiel in silence, Dean remarks to himself how calm and relaxed he feels. He can't wipe that small grin of contentment from his face. And he wouldn't want to.

* * *

Anna shows up around five and finds Castiel teaching Dean how to properly prepare his own personal cherry pie. She stands at the doorway to the kitchen and says nothing as she watches her brother throw his head back in laughter when Dean can't read the measuring cup.

"Still up for that run?" She asks, announcing her arrival. Both Dean and Castiel turn in the direction of her voice with slightly embarrassed, yet beautifully joyful expressions on their faces.

Castiel looks at his watch and his eyes widen. "Oh my God, Anna," He says, untying his apron. "I totally lost track of the time."

"No problem, bro," Anna reassures him as she pulls her fiery red hair back into a ponytail. "Hi, Dean."

Dean's hands are covered in the pie filling as he was trying to place the lattice of crust on top of the pie. "Hi, Anna." His eyes steal a furtive glimpse of Castiel pulling the apron over his head.

"I just have to go change," Castiel says as he makes his way towards the door. "Be down in a sec. Meet you outside?"

Anna nods as her brother races past to run up to his apartment, and she finds herself alone with Dean, who still looks like a forlorn lost puppy as he tries to lattice the crust just right.

"Let me guess," She says as she approaches Dean's workstation. "Gabriel?" She doesn't even have to explain what she means. The name is enough.

"Yep," Dean confirms. "He fainted from 'heat exhaustion' earlier, and I said I would fill in." Anna laughs when Dean makes finger quotes around heat exhaustion, but the look on her brother's face tempered her frustration with Gabriel and his ploys. Castiel looked happier than she had seen him in years.

Anna slowly closes the distance between her and Dean and she reaches for the latticed crust that Dean is failing miserably to execute. With her deft fingers, she shows him how to lay down the strips of crust so that they interlace like wicker. "You know, my brother doesn't usually let people come near his kitchen," She says as she motions for Dean to press the edges of the latticed crust into the side of the pie.

Dean doesn't really know how to respond to that, but Anna isn't looking for one, she simply wants Dean to understand that there is something different about him.

"Well, he probably would have been better off not letting me in here," Dean jokes, raising his red stained hands. "I'm hopeless."

Anna hands Dean a towel to wipe his hands with and she shakes her head. "Cas can teach anyone to bake," She counters. "And this pie honestly doesn't look half bad," She adds with a smile, just as Castiel reappears in the kitchen, dressed in his running clothes.

Dean can't help but notice the definition in his thighs, the veins in his calves, and his perfectly lean body. He blinks and looks away when he sees Castiel watching him...is there a hint of a smile on the baker's face?

Taking a step towards the exit, Dean bites his lip. "Well, thanks for the lesson."

"Thank you for stepping in for my ridiculous brother," Castiel counters with a lopsided grin, and Dean nods as he slowly begins to leave. "We should be done in about two hours," Castiel blurts out. "Why don't you come over around 7:30 and we'll have a beer or something?" It's as if he can feel his heart stop beating in his chest as he waits for Dean's response.

"I'd-I'd really like that," Dean agrees before ducking out of the bakery.

* * *

Once Dean has left, Anna punches Castiel in the arm with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she pulls him towards the exit. "So what was that all about?" She inquires, wanting all of the details.

Once outside, Castiel takes a deep breath of the warm afternoon air and raises his head to feel the sunlight warm his face. "What was what all about?" He asks innocently, his eyes still closed and his face still soaking up the sun's rays. This response garners another punch from Anna, who begins trotting down Main St.

Castiel catches up to her and she give him a 'you know exactly what I'm talking about' look, and Castiel knows that he isn't going to get out of this one, and if there's anyone he can talk to, it's definitely Anna.

As they make their way down the street, they turn at the second block from the bakery and pick up speed as they look for the trail-head that follows a small creek originating at the lake. Castiel shrugs. "I don't know, Anna," He says in a deplorable tone. "I've only known him for a few days, but..." Castiel trails off as he tries to put into words what being in Dean's presence does for him. "I feel so comfortable, you know? And it's nice not to feel so alone."

Anna nods as she takes in her brother's words. She knows that Castiel has always felt slightly at odds with the rest of the family, and though she doesn't want to say anything, she knows that it all stems from Cambodia. "It seems like he's pretty alone too," Anna supplies as they finally hit the trail, increasing their pace again. She loves running with Cas, when he's out on the trails he is completely different. His guard comes down and she can tell that he feels freer than he does anywhere else.

"I guess," Castiel relents, feeling his heart rate begin to rise as he and Anna fall into their pace of an 8 minute mile. Alone, Castiel usually runs a 7 minute mile, but he doesn't mind slowing down a bit for his sister. She's honestly the only person he enjoys running with anyway.

Anna's pony-tail bounces back and forth as her feet hit the ground in a constant rhythm. "So, why do you seem so hesitant?"

Castiel shrugs as he shakes his head. "I haven't felt like this in a very long time," He admits. "And I guess I'm just afraid." Castie's voice is very small as he admits this.

With a sympathetic expression, Anna turns her head to look at her brother running next to her. "This isn't Cambodia, Cas," she reassures him. "You're a successful adult. There's no reason to be afraid."

Castiel feels his heart sink when Anna mentions Cambodia, and he shakes his head, "Another reason I'm afraid," he explains. "I don't want to put too much into this right now..." he trails off, as he pictures the smile on Dean's face as his hands guided Dean's. "Because I know I'm going to have to explain Cambodia sooner or later."

Anna's face is sympathetic when she regards her brother. The sound of their breathing and their feet hitting the ground are the only sounds in the quiet forest as they get farther and farther away from town.

"What happened in Cambodia doesn't have to be the be all end all that you're making it out to be, Cas," She reminds him. "It was a situation that was completely out of your control, and blown way out of proportion. Don't forget the entire reason behind what happened."

Castiel sighs deeply and nods at his sister's statement, "I guess sometimes the betrayal eclipses that."

Anna reaches out her hand and places it on Castiel's shoulder as they run along. "Dean is not Joshua, Cas, and you can't hide forever."

Castiel knows that Anna has a point, and he feels like he's making strides in the right direction. I mean, he did invite Dean over for beers.

"It's going to be okay," Anna reassures him once more, and Castiel places a kiss on her cheek as they continue to run.

Castiel feels like this is the first time he isn't actively running away from something, and it simultaneously feels freeing and absolutely terrifying.


	6. Chapter 6

The day has cooled off when Castiel bids good-bye to Anna after their run. She smiles at him and puts her hand on his shoulder in comfort. "I love you, baby brother," She says, pulling Castiel into an embrace. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" She disengages from the hug and begins to make her way towards her car.

Castiel's head feels clearer as he mounts the stairs to his apartment. In this clarity, he allows himself to embrace the giddy excitement he feels at the plans he has with Dean. It is a little after seven when he enters his apartment. He opens a few windows to air out the old place and strips off his sweat-soaked running clothes as he turns on the tap in the shower.

The hot water beating down on him massages his tense muscles as he lathers himself with soap, washing away the dirt and grime from the run, and letting all of the things that worry him wash down the drain with it. History doesn't always repeat itself, Castiel reassures himself, and he pushes away his fear and unease to allow the happiness and contentment enough room to flourish.

Toweling his wild hair dry, Castiel hears a knock at the door, and suddenly, he's a little nervous again; looking in the mirror at his untameable black hair sticking out in all directions, he throws his towel over the towel rack and doesn't even bother trying to do anything with that hair.

When Castiel stands in front of his door, he takes a deep breath, placing his hand on the door-knob and swings open the door with a smile on his face. Dean is standing awkwardly on the landing, holding a six pack of beers in his right hand and the rest of his Four Berry Pie in his left.

"Hey," Castiel says, running his fingers through his still-wet hair. "Come on in," he invites, closing the door after Dean enters the apartment.

* * *

Dean can't help but smile when he sees that Castiel's hair is still dripping with moisture as he obviously has just gotten out of the shower after his run. "So how far did you and Anna go?" Dean asks as Castiel leads them to the tiny kitchen.

"Ten miles," Castiel replies as if it were no big deal. Dean tries not to let his shock and awe show too much on his face.

"I don't know how the hell you do it," Dean remarks with a shake of his head. He screws off the tops of two beers and hands one to Castiel.

Shrugging it off, Castiel takes a swig of his beer. "Well, I've been running a long time," He offers. "And honestly, the hardest part of becoming a distance runner is the build-up from about five to ten miles...after that it almost doesn't make a difference," he has a rueful expression on his face.

Castiel's apartment is slightly cramped, and obviously quite old. The hardwood floors are rough with uneven colouring and the kitchen is almost too small for two people to be in at once, but it feels cozy as a late summer breeze lazily moves the curtains in the open windows, creating a nice flow of air through the small space.

Dean follows Castiel to the living room and take a seat on the couch. He watches Castiel slowly lower himself down into the chair next to him, obviously still a bit spent after his ridiculously long run. Dean takes another pull off his beer as he tries to think of conversation starters, though he feels perfectly comfortable sitting in silence with Castiel, listening to the sound of cars passing below and birds singing in the trees that line Main St.

"So what brings you to our humble town?" Castiel asks with a congenial smile on his face.

"Work," Dean says. "I guess I've taken after my Dad. Just sort of following the work around." Without consciously trying to cover it, Dean's tone is darker than he wanted to let on.

Castiel's face is sympathetic, yet slightly crest-fallen. "So you don't plan on spending much time here?" He asks, making sure that his tone is non-committal.

"I don't know," Dean admits. "The shopping centre is a pretty huge gig, so I still have a while before I have to start thinking about where I'm going next." Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head; he doesn't want to think about leaving. Not right now. "How long have you had the bakery?" He asks, changing the topic.

Castiel purses his lips as he thinks. "Almost four years, now," He says with a smile. The same smile that Dean remembers from earlier when Castiel's dextrous hands were guiding his as they pressed into the squishy dough. "And I'm almost out of debt from my start-up," he adds with a laugh.

Smiling as he takes another drink of his beer, Dean is somehow not surprised that Castiel footed the entire bill to open his bakery. "You seem to really love it," Dean remarks kindly. "And, if I do say so myself, after having one of your pies, it's your fucking life's calling."

Castiel's laugh is so genuine that Dean finds himself chuckling as well. Bowing his head in humble thanks, Castiel finishes off the rest of his beer. "I'm glad you think so." The way he almost bitterly emphasizes the word 'you' piques Dean's interest.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Dean asks with a tone of penance, but he's not really sorry. He's told Castiel far more about himself than he has anyone else, maybe it's time to turn the tables.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "A little bit," He affirms. "Can I get you another beer? If we're going to get into this, I'm going to need another."

Dean nods as he stands to follow Castiel to the kitchen. The cool air wafts out of the fridge when Castiel pulls the door open and grabs two beers with one hand, his long fingers wrapping easily around the two bottle necks. "So..." Dean prompts gently. "Is it your family?" He asks.

Castiel begins to slowly walk back towards the living room in silence, trying to gather his thoughts into coherent sentences. He's never really explained this to anyone else, and even though everything inside him is screaming in protest, he opens his mouth when they are once again seated in his small living room.

"Look at Michael and Raphael," Castiel begins, thinking that it's probably best to start by framing the story with context. "Michael is an architect and Raphael is a lawyer. They both are extremely successful, donating to Mom and Dad's charity, frequently going over on aid trips," Pausing to play with the label on his beer bottle, he sighs. "Anna's a nurse, Balthazar is a writer, and Gabe, well, he changes jobs a lot, but he's always done something important." Pressing his lips together to keep his expression neutral, Castiel continues. "And then there's me. The indebted baker, who really does nothing for the world."

Dean doesn't quite understand what Castiel is hinting at. From what he had experienced, it seemed like Castiel was very close with his family, though, of course, he did notice how his interactions with his siblings and his father were decidedly different than any of the others.

"You can't really believe that," Dean begins, though he feels like there is more to the story than Castiel is letting on, and he hopes that he'll get those gaps filled in soon.

Shooting Dean a slightly incredulous expression as he drinks almost half of his beer in one go, Castiel scoffs when he finally finishes drinking. He opens his mouth to speak again and closes it immediately, contemplating his beer bottle.

Dean senses his reluctance, and at the same time, this all-consuming need to just have someone listen. He reaches for the empty beer bottle in Castiel's hand which he notices is trembling slightly. The baker's eyes are distant when they meet Dean's, and even though Dean's immediate reaction in these situations would be to get the hell out of there, he smiles warmly at Castiel. "I'm guessing you're going to need another," He says and Castiel nods as he takes a shaky breath.

In the few moments it takes Dean to walk to the kitchen, he feels his stomach begin to knot. He hadn't really intended to initiate such a conversation with Castiel that evening, in fact, all of his instincts were screaming the opposite of everything he was doing. He didn't get involved; it was just better that way. But something was categorically different this time.

The humidity in the cool air of the refrigerator billows pleasingly into the kitchen as Dean opens the door to get more beers. The reason he was ignoring all of his instincts and going against everything he had ever been taught was because he had never before encountered someone like Castiel. Someone whose simple presence made Dean believe that things could be different. It almost didn't make sense, and Dean knew that it must have been too good to be true.

Castiel was still sitting meekly in his chair when Dean returns to the living room, moving only to accept the beer from Dean and take a long pull. "Whoa there, tiger," Dean teases.

A minute hint of a smile curls unwillingly at the corner of Castiel's lovely mouth, and with the quantity of beer he has ingested in such a small amount of time, Dean feels some of his inhibitions fade. He sits on the side of the couch closest to Castiel, not leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head as he normally would but sitting near the edge of his seat and giving his full attention to Castiel.

"I don't know what it is," Dean begins. "About you." He motions towards Castiel with the neck of his bottle, already feeling some sort of weight being shifted from his back. "But I feel so different around you."

A warm blush spreads quickly across Castiel's cheeks, and he averts his eyes with another ghost smile, "I think I know what you mean," He almost whispers, and even softer he adds, "It's like I'm not alone."

"So if you need to say something," Dean says evenly, reaching out his hand to turn Castiel's face back towards him. "You can tell me." The feeling of Castiel's skin under Dean's palm is unparalleled.

In Castiel's eyes is a warning, a prayer, and suddenly, like a dam breaking, Castiel begins talking.

* * *

_I'd been to Cambodia a total of four times before I moved there when I was thirteen. Most teenaged boys would be infuriated that they were being dragged to live on the other side of the world, but I've never been most boys, and I was more than ready to get out of this place; it wasn't like I was really leaving anything._

_God_ , Castiel's eyes are alight with the memory.

_I'll never forget the moment I stepped out of the airport. The air was thick and soupy with tropical humidity and the people, so many people, moving a million different ways, all going on in a completely unrecognisable language. There were no words in my vocabulary to explain the fury of action taking place before me._

_I heard my mother's voice before I saw her. Her Khmer was flawless even then. When she pulled me into her arms, and Dad placed one hand on my head and the other on my back, it was just me and them and I already felt at home._

_Of course, it wasn't butterflies and rainbows from the get-go, even though I was raring to go. I started to feel pretty lonely after my first few months. Mom convinced Dad to let me start running, and I would take off into the jungles around their compound and run for hours. My entire body would be soaked equally with sweat and humidity by the time I returned home for my afternoon Khmer lessons._

_I had six months of an adjustment period. Getting used to the day to day routine took a good chunk of this time. Just getting acclimated to my surroundings, it was exhausting. I helped in the clinic, I worked on my Khmer and I ran. I think that was when I discovered the comfort in repetition._

_After four months the Aarons arrived._  Castiel's voice adopts a mournful, bittersweet tone.

_John and Sara Aaron were two of my parent's most trusted partners. They'd been coming on trips to Cambodia for years, and then they decided that they wanted to spend a more extended period of time in country. And as it happened, my parents needed someone to stay and hold down the fort in two months when they were to supervise the construction of their first satellite clinic in the remote northern jungles._

_One thing I hadn't counted on was the Aarons' son arriving a month after them. Joshua was fifteen, and he was much less enthusiastic about being in Cambodia than I was. In fact, at first, I found him to be a petulant teenager who couldn't appreciate the beauty of the Cambodian culture, but, as two American boys in a foreign country often will, we developed a friendship._

_By the time my parents set off for the north, Joshua and I were spending most of our time together. My Khmer was still lack-luster and even though I liked the kids in the village next to my parent's compound, the language barrier made it hard for me to form meaningful relationships with them, and it wasn't until Joshua arrived that I truly saw my own loneliness._

_Joshua soon fell into the routine, and since I'd had the luxury of a six month head start, I showed him everything. My favourite hide-outs in the jungle, where I pointed out all of the strange creatures which stalked, crawled and slithered around that gloriously foreign place as well as the older women in the market who would give me a free piece of Trey Dang Dau, small fish from the Mekong that are served deep-fried._

_Maybe Joshua didn't appreciate the diversity around us, but he certainly came to appreciate the comfort that came with having another teenaged American boy to run amok with. I'd never had a friend like him, and I found myself wishing it would never end. As we would lay on the banks of the Mekong, baking in the searing tropical sun, we didn't even have to speak._

_My parents came back three months later and after a lengthy conversation, the Aarons agreed to stay on for another six months. I was elated, and I found that it wasn't just because Joshua was my friend. He'd become my confidante, my rock, my safe-place I could run to whenever I couldn't handle it. He was gentle, and kind, and never asked me to explain anything._

_Because, God, sometimes I would get so frustrated, so depressed. Alone in the market as I grasped for those strange words in that language that I couldn't quite wrap my brain around, watching the pain in the people who showed up, frail with illness at my parents' doorstep._

_Things came to a head when I was working in the nursery of the hospital, filled to the brim with mostly abandoned infants destined for ramshackle, Cambodian orphanages or, more likely, the streets. There was this one baby, he'd been left on the hospital's door-step, less than two weeks old, emaciated from malnutrition, and barely clinging to life. We called him Samnang, which means Good Fortune._

_The nurses in the infant ward were always stretched thin, and Samnang required a lot of attention and care. When Joshua was in his Khmer lessons, I would spend that time in the nursery, coaxing a bottle into Sam's mouth, trying to make sure he didn't choke on the milk. As the baby in the family, I'd never experienced this before, such a small thing curled up in my arms, totally dependent. I never thought I could love something so much._

_But one day, I went to check on him, and he was gone. His bassinet was empty, the white sheets stripped from it. But his name-tag was still attached. The nurse working saw me as I stood there, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over onto my cheeks. She came up to me, put a hand on my shoulder, and my Khmer was good enough for me to understand the word 'dead'._

_With his name-tag still in my hand, I ran out of the hospital. I ran past my parents, past the Aarons, past Joshua. I ran faster as I exited the compound, and I continued into the forest until I couldn't pull another breath because of the searing pain in my lungs._

_Just as I collapsed into sobs on the forest floor, I heard my name being called from a distance. I wanted to disappear, to just dissolve into tears and seep into the ground. But when Joshua found me, he sat and put his arm around my shoulders as he pulled me close enough to feel his breath against my neck as I sobbed into his shoulder._

* * *

Castiel pauses, it is amazing to him that he remembers all of this in such vivid detail. Each piece of it is played out all over again in technicolour in his mind's eye as he recounts the tale to Dean. He hasn't even finished, not by a long shot, but he needs another beer, because all of this has just been context.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Dean has to bring himself back from the jungles of Cambodia to the small living room he is currently occupying with Castiel. The baker's voice wavers slightly but his face is unmoved. His lips are in a small frown, his brow furrowed, and a heavy look of sadness settling into his eyes. He watches Castiel worry on the side of his mouth as he stands and holds their empty bottles up.

"Be right back."

* * *

At this point, Castiel reasons to himself, he is committed to telling his story to the end. He stands and slowly paces the living room as he waits for Dean to return. Walking to the window overlooking Main St., Castiel gently pulls back the gauzy white curtain and gazes at the dark, quiet street. The loud buzz of cicadas wafts into the room as Castiel closes his eyes and savours the coolness of the night air.

In the kitchen, he hears the clinking of bottles and the sound of Dean's boot gently kicking the refrigerator door closed. Castiel doesn't move from his spot as he hears footsteps entering the living room, and suddenly, Dean is standing at his back, extending a beer in his direction.

Castiel feels a hesitation on Dean's part as he turns to take the bottle from his hand. "Thanks," Castiel whispers, throwing one more glance out of the window into the growing twilight that has all but extinguished the light of day. Dean doesn't move until Castiel takes a seat on the couch; rather unexpectedly for Castiel, the other man re-takes his seat on the couch next to him, the springs in the old piece of furniture groaning under his weight.

Silence descends for a moment and fills the room.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean prompts, as the baker stares blankly into the distance. At the sound of his nickname, Castiel turns to look at Dean with an unreadable expression in his entrancing eyes, simultaneously warm and icy. A ghost of a smile twitches in the corner of his mouth.

It is the first time Dean has used that name, and for some reason, it wrenches Castiel's heart. As if reading his mind, Dean breaks eye contact as he takes a drink of his beer and readjusts himself on the couch, clearing his throat.

"You've never called me that before," Castiel points out, his awkward, shy approval stands out in his low, quiet tone.

Normally, Dean would run. He hadn't noticed that he used Castiel's nickname until after it had passed his lips. He realises that he's been referring to him as Cas in his mind for some time now. The familiarity after such a short period of time is concerning in its comfort.

"You didn't answer my question," Dean counters, finding the courage to again look Castiel in the eyes. "Are you okay?" He reiterates.

Tightening his grip on the bottle in his hands, Castiel takes a deep breath and nods. "I've never actually talked about any of this." In Castiel's eyes is a slightly bemused expression, as if he is truly surprised that he has told Dean all of this. But intricately laced into his bemusement is an undeniable, abject pain.

As Castiel continues to speak, now only a few feet away, Dean finds himself inching closer to the baker.

* * *

_My parents had to go back to the satellite clinic a few weeks after Sam died. There had been a terrible mud-slide and hundreds were injured. To be honest, I barely noticed their absence at first. For the first few weeks after losing Samnang, I was gone. I spent most of my time in my bed, staring at the wall and wishing that I could just disappear. I didn't go to the nursery, I didn't run, and after ten days, Kunthea, the middle-aged nurse who helped me with my Khmer stopped trying to coax me from between my blankets for lessons._

_Joshua never stopped trying though. Every day he would come into my room and tell me what a beautiful day it was outside. We were on the outskirts of the monsoon season, which I had experienced upon my arrival. In the afternoons, when the hot 'mango showers' fell on the country, Joshua would curl up at the end of my bed and tell me about his quotidian life._

_He loved the jungle, he had come to realise, despite all of its humidity and unpredictability. When he said that to me, it was the first time I felt myself ache for that wet, green abyss where I had run for hours and forgotten the world; Joshua could sense my longing, but he never pushed me to get out. He never got angry with me. He would describe his day in vivid detail, and I laid my head in his lap to let his fingers rake through my wild, unkempt hair._

_I hadn't left the compound in a month at that point. Everything about Cambodia was still acutely painful. Every time I even thought about leaving, I would get as far as the open air yard and see the faces of the family members waiting to see patients in the hospital and in each of their faces I saw the future Samnang would never have, and I couldn't bring myself to walk out of that gate._

_Without me, Joshua was forced to immerse himself in the culture, his Khmer improved dramatically, and one day he even showed up with Trey Dang Dau, a huge smile plastered on his face as he had obviously gotten up the courage to speak to the elderly woman with the permanent scowl on her face in the market. The greasy fish was so familiar, the texture and flavour stirred something inside of me. I could see the woman's face in my mind's eye._

_My parents were still in the north when Chaul Chhnam Thmey, Khmer New Year, descended upon us. Joshua's parents were already bogged down with the running of the hospital, and New Year depleted their skeleton staff even more as the celebrations began and would run for three days and nights._

_It was the first night of the celebrations; I could hear the people outside my window in the streets all day. For the Cambodian people, New Year is a time when they forget their worries and celebrate with games and food and family. On every street corner was music, the laughter of children, and dancing. So much dancing._

_I ventured out to the courtyard that night; I hadn't seen Joshua all day and the sounds and smells wafting off the streets had intrigued me enough to leave my room. I climbed a tree whose branches extended over the high compound walls and I looked down onto the lantern lit streets brimming over with throngs of people. Their smiles and joy were infectious and as I watched the children running after a ball they were kicking around the dusty street._

_"Cas!" Joshua's voice called to me and I almost fell out of the tree. He walked me through the streets slowly, conscious that this was my first time out of the compound. He led me to the Mekong, where a blanket was laid out on the bank._

_Sitting down, Joshua brought out a veritable feast. He'd spent all day gathering the food and preparing the moment; we dined on fish that had been swimming in the river only a few hours before and finished with Num Ansom, sticky rice cakes made for all Khmer holidays._

_We didn't even need to speak, and I smiled so much my cheeks hurt. Afterward we laid back on the blanket and stared at the stars as we listened to the music drifting from the houses around us. The moon was full and bright as it reflected off the black waters of the Mekong, and Joshua's fingers tangled with mine as he took my hand in his._

_"I love you, Cas."_

_And I knew that I did too._

* * *

Dean can't ignore the tears welling in Castiel's eyes as the man places a hand on his forehead with a small, mirthless laugh. Without realising, Dean has scooted to within a few inches of Castiel on the couch. It was like a god-damn magnetic pull towards the man and Dean found that, though he didn't understand why or how, he wasn't going to run. He couldn't do it. Not to him. Not to Cas.

Leaning forward and resting his head in his hands, Castiel takes a deep, shaky breath. Dean can see that he doesn't want to continue with his story, and when he notices the tears dripping from Castiel's hands onto his jeans, he places a hand on the other man's back. "You don't have to finish," Dean reassures him, and he can't tell if Cas really leaned into his touch or if he just imagined the minute movement.

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologises, his voice still thick with emotion though he tries to cover it up; he never imagined that he would be able to remember all of this so vividly, down to the precise feeling of the hard bank of the Mekong beneath his head, and the warmth of Joshua's body next to him.

"Don't be sorry," Dean chastises lightly. "You don't owe me anything." The look in Cas' eyes when Dean says this almost brings tears to Dean's eyes as well. Those blue orbs looked broken, shattered, as if Castiel could not comprehend the idea that he didn't owe Dean anything. "You'll tell me when you're ready," Dean's deep voice resonates in Castiel's ear and he instinctively leans a bit more into Dean's hand on his back.

Castiel doesn't know what to say. The rest of his story, the trauma, the departure, was something he kept locked away; it was just better that way, and, at any rate, it wasn't like anyone had ever wanted to hear about it before. No one had ever asked for Castiel's side of the story. Even Anna had never asked him to tell her what happened from his perspective.

"I thought his words meant something," Castiel laments quietly, face still as a stone, he wipes a stray tear from his cheek, and he leaves it at that.

Dean is silent as his hand begins to rub small circles on Cas' back. The baker closes his eyes and rocks back and forth with Dean's hand.

"I think we need pie," Dean proposes, reluctantly removing his hand from Castiel's back. "I'll get it."

Hand shooting out to stop Dean from standing, Castiel finally opens his eyes and meets Dean's. "Thank you," He says simply, his fingers tugged on the collar of Dean's shirt absentmindedly. He didn't want to lose the feeling of Dean's body so close to him, not shying away, not rejecting his touch.

While Dean roots around in the kitchen for plates, Cas flicks the television on and presses the mute button. The light from the screen bounces around the room and he stands to join Dean in the kitchen. As Dean is cutting a piece of pie, Castiel surveys his pantry and begins pulling down flour, sugar and chocolate chips. Dean cocks his head to the side.

"Why don't we make cookies," Cas suggests as his hands idly gather the necessary components. "There's nothing on TV."

Dean laughs. "Like I said," He begins. "Your life's calling." Grabbing the flour and the measuring cup he looks to Castiel who has his head in the fridge, with milk and butter in his hand. "How much?"

Castiel's eyes are still rimmed with red, but the sadness in his eyes is all but gone as he contemplates Dean's question. "Two cups," He instructs, trying to free his mind from the vines of the Cambodian jungle. Taking deep breaths, grounding his feet into the floor, he pushes Joshua's face from his mind, like placing a photograph in an envelope and tucking it away into a book on the top shelf.

When Castiel turns from the fridge, he sees Dean rifling through his cabinets; he pulls out a tin of coco and a packet of caramel chips. "Can we experiment?" The smile on Dean's face spreads from ear to ear and settles fully in his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow with a mischievous grin taken straight from Gabriel, Castiel nods slowly. "I can think of something."

For someone who is self-professed hopeless in the kitchen, Castiel works with Dean in a very fluid manner. The awkwardly small kitchen has never felt so comfortably sized. Every movement brushes a part of their bodies together, and they are working on their second six pack yet every contact of their bodies is measured, intimate. They don't collide; they meld together, and Castiel feels everything melt away. Baking with Dean is so natural.

Dean has given up on using the wooden spoon and he attacks the cookie dough he is working with his bare, callused hands. The oven is pre-heating and Castiel can feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Dean's arm grazes Castiel's waist as he works in the chocolate chips. Castiel leans into the contact, closing his eyes as he takes in the smell of the newly made dough.

"What is that, Cas?" Dean asks suddenly.

Castiel can't help but smile at the use of his nickname again. It sounds right in that gravely, deep voice. "What?" Cas responds, confused, he hadn't even realised he was whistling.

"That tune you're whistling," Dean prompts.

Castiel laughs at the irony, he abandons his work and looks at Dean's 'experiment', his arms reaching around Dean's body from behind to pull cinnamon out of cabinet. Dean's closeness is intoxicating, and the way he seems to press his shoulder into Castiel's arm.

"It's the Soat Mun," Castiel replies, unscrewing the top from the container of cinnamon, the warmth of the spice combines with the heat of the kitchen and the warmth of Dean's closeness to truly bring Castiel to the moment. He is perfectly content. "It's the blessing of the Monks given in traditional Khmer weddings."

"Did you go to a lot of weddings while you were there?" Dean inquires, the brown cinnamon penetrating the deep creases of his hands as Cas watches over his shoulder in approval.

"Just one," He responds enigmatically as the oven beeps three times, indicating it has reached the desired temperature. There was one thing Castiel had allowed himself to splurge on in this ancient apartment, and that had been his appliances, and Dean shakes his head fondly at the realisation as Cas unwillingly turns to inspect the oven.

Castiel suddenly has a realisation, with a small gasp, and he doesn't reach for the baking sheet, but he is pulling down his familiar pie dish and turning back to the dough in Dean's bowl. With a bark of a laugh, Dean puts his arm around Cas' shoulder to squeeze him affectionately. "You are a god among men," he declares gleefully.

Rocking with Dean's embrace, Cas lets his head fall onto the other man's shoulder for a moment. "Not a god," He corrects. "Just a baker."

For Dean, the two are synonymous.

* * *

While the cookie crust bakes, Castiel lets Dean switch the channel to Dr. Sexy, MD, and they sit on the couch, Dean's arm draped around Cas' shoulder, in rich, beautiful silence.

The show is truly terrible, but Dean's obsession with Dr. Sexy is probably the funniest thing Castiel has ever seen; he watches every movement of the doctor's glorious locks intently and Castiel feels a giggle beginning in his stomach.

"What?" Dean demands laughingly, as Castiel begins to scoot his way off of the couch.

"Are you going to help me with the filling, or do you and Dr. Sexy want some private time?" He jokes.

Dean purses his lips and his expression screams unamusement at Castiel's suggestion as he reaches for the remote and flicks off the television. "We are making art," Dean states seriously. "Sorry Dr. Sexy," He aims towards the black screen with a grin, his eyes soft.

Cas is pulling the crust out of the oven when Dean makes it to the kitchen, and it's like he's been kicked squarely in the chest. The raw heat from the oven blows Castiel's wild black hair as the scent from the cookie crust wafts to Dean's nostrils.

The ache in Dean's chest is hard to place, like a memory of a memory, that's the best way to describe how he remembers his mother. That time in his life feels so far removed, and yet that smell could take him right back to Lawrence. Right back to the life he would never have.

Placing the pie dish on the top of the stove, Castiel turns for the fridge and catches sight of Dean in the entrance to the room; his face is slightly ashen, his brow furrowed, and his eyes a million miles away. "Dean?" Cas calls.

Dean shakes his head slightly and straightens with a nod.

"We're going to fold cream cheese into whipped cream," Castiel prompts, pulling Dean back to the moment, back to him.

Dean's shoulders are slightly more hunched when he walks into the kitchen, and Castiel can't help but lean forward and grab a handful of Dean's shirt. He pulls him forward and places a light kiss on his lips.

Cas' grip is tight and Dean feels himself relax, his hands creeping up the sides of Castiel's waist almost instinctively. "Come back to me," Cas beckons when he pulls away after their brief kiss. "We're baking."

 


	8. Chapter 8

The sun is much too bright when Castiel opens his eyes. It streams forcefully in through the curtains and dust lazily dances in the shafts of light. There is a sharp ache throbbing in Castiel’s forehead and he groans at the pain as his brain slowly surfaces from the fog, his eyes not wanting to remain open in the brightness of the morning. The details of his surroundings slowly come into focus, and he smiles into his pillow as he senses Dean next to him, sprawled out over the covers, snoring lightly.

Castiel has to readjust Dean’s arm draped over his body as he turns over to check the time. He starts into complete awareness as he reads the big, red numbers.

8:15

Shit. Turning with just his head, he looks to Dean’s face, still totally relaxed in sleep, and he fluidly slips out from underneath his arm. No time to take a shower, Castiel grabs the same clothes he wore the night before. He jots down a note to Dean on the back of a receipt as he hops into his trusty corduroy pants.

Overslept. Had to open the shop. Sleep as long as you want. I’ll have coffee downstairs. -Cas

Turning with a smile, Cas pulls the door to his room closed before running out of his apartment and down the stairs to the street below. It’s a glorious Sunday morning; the cornflower blue sky stretches out above Castiel’s head and the light from the sun breaking the horizon bounces off of the window to Castiel’s Coveted Cakes & Pies. There is a small chill to the air, and a cool breeze hits Castiel’s face as he jams his key into the deadbolt. The cold feels refreshing against the hangover he is nursing.

In one movement, Cas flips the sign in the door to open and flicks on the lights. He is surprised and relieved that no one is waiting outside the door since he is opening more than fifteen minutes late. He has a usual Sunday morning crowd, but it looks like they are also a bit slow getting out and about this morning. The temperature is the coolest it’s been this season and Cas pulls his sweater around him as he begins pre-heating the ovens and brewing the first pots of coffee.

When Castiel sticks his head in the cooler he smiles widely as he remembers the ridiculous amount of pastries he and Dean were able to crank out yesterday in the unusual lull of Saturday afternoon. The ladies from the church will be by to pick up their little treats for Sunday School that starts promptly at 9AM, and Cas is happy that he has a surplus of them.

He is just sliding the last of the pastries into the case when the bell above the door announces the arrival of his first customer. Glancing up he sees Nancy, the organist for the First Baptist Church, walking swiftly across the linoleum. “Good morning, Castiel!” She calls in a friendly voice, her eyes no doubt surveying Cas’ disheveled appearance, but he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Good morning, Nancy. The usual?” Every Sunday the woman buys the baker’s choice of a dozen pastries warmed for less than a minute in the counter-top convection oven behind the pastry case. Glancing at her watch, she huffs frustratedly.

“Yes, but I’ll just take them cold,” She instructs as Cas grabs a box and begins picking pastries at random. He makes sure to include the ones that Dean had made himself, the shape of the scone is different and Castiel smiles warmly at the memory of how naturally Dean’s hands worked the dough.

“Here you are,” Cas announces as he closes the box and slides it across the top of the pastry case. Nancy quickly pulls her wallet out of her purse and plucks out a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the change, dear.” She chides as she turns and is out the door in a moment. 

The churches never quite knew what to think of the Milton family, Castiel remarks to himself as the door shuts behind her. They were long-time supporters of the hospital, even from the beginning; but it was hard for them to understand the way things were done with his parents. Abraham and Mary had a clear vision of what they wanted to achieve in Cambodia, and they refused to bow to any type of church politics. They were there to help the people, and that was that. So the checks were exchanged with congenial smiles, and the odd aid team was financed and organised by the church. But that was as far as the collaboration went.

And even though it had been well over ten years since Castiel had returned from Cambodia, they still had no earthly idea what to do with him.

Alone once more, Cas pours himself a cup of black coffee and takes a seat behind the register, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun pouring in through the large front windows. It could have been any regular Sunday morning, actually, a slow Sunday morning, if Castiel is honest, but he is acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, Dean could waltz right into the bakery. That right now, Dean Winchester is sleeping in his bed.

Castiel grins into his cup of coffee, steam beading on his forehead as he contemplates the man upstairs who already knew more about Castiel than anyone else, and just how exactly he had been able to do that. The baker finds himself wishing that he knew more about Dean.

As Castiel downs the dregs of his cup of coffee, Carol, the pastor’s wife from the Methodist Church comes barreling into the bakery, hair going in all directions and a harried expression on her face. “Hello, Castiel,” She calls across the room as she walks briskly towards the counter.

“Good morning, Carol,” Castiel responds with a smile. “A dozen doughnuts?” 

Carol is typing away on her smart-phone as she nods in response. “Yes, dear,” She glances at the clock and Castiel can see her eyes become more frenzied. It’s always funny to watch the people who are obviously already late; he tries to move as quickly as possible as he fills the box.

He trades the box for a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the change,” Carol mumbles as she continues to stare at what looks like notes of scripture on her phone.

As Cas is refilling his mug of coffee, his cell rings from its place next to the register. Glancing towards the door as he reaches for the phone, he is willing Dean to walk in. “Castiel,” He answers; never sure whether a call is business or personal.

“Hello, cousin,” Uriel’s deep voice resonates through the line, warm, if not slightly measured.

Castiel smiles as he is reminded about the upcoming wedding, and his task of creating the perfect wedding cake. “Uriel,” he responds amicably, “how is wedding planning going?”

“Lynne is beside herself,” Uriel answers with a rumbling laugh. “We are still planning on 5pm right?”

Leaning back onto the counter, Castiel smiles at his cousin’s soon-to-be-bride. “Yes, 5pm.” He confirms, suddenly excited about the challenge of trying to please Lynne with the perfect wedding cake.

“Well, we are on our way to church, so I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“See you then,” Castiel replies with a laugh as he hears Lynne’s voice in the background, the cake ideas already flying through his mind. As he begins to jot down recipes on the legal pad next to the register, he doesn’t hear the front door open.

It’s Dean’s boots on the tile floor that catches Castiel’s ear. Lifting his eyes slowly, he watches Dean saunter towards him, with the white light of the morning illuminating him from behind. A warmth in Castiel’s core spreads through his entire body and he smiles sweetly at Dean’s ruffled appearance.

“You said you have coffee?” Dean asks with a pained smile, rubbing his temples and lowering his eyes to shield them from the light. He catches sight of the legal pad as Cas turns to get him a large mug of fresh coffee, and maybe a doughnut.

“Are these cake ideas?” He asks, his voice trailing off as he yawns widely.

“My cousin Uriel is getting married,” Dean is leaning across the counter, examining the combinations on the paper before him. “And I’m tasked with the wedding cake.” Castiel pushes the cup of coffee towards Dean as he pulls up the small stool he keeps behind the counter.

“These sound awesome,” Dean observes enthusiastically before taking a long gulp of his coffee, grimacing at the burning liquid as it slides down his throat.

“Well, Uriel’s fiancée is notoriously difficult to please, so I have to do something special,” Castiel adds, regarding Dean over his own cup of coffee, the steam fogging Dean’s features. Their fingers brush against each other as Castiel takes the pad from Dean. Both take note of it, and they linger for a moment.

“I have faith in you,” Dean confesses, and even though it is supposed to sound like a joke, there is something in his tone that moves something inside Cas’ chest. “When are they tasting them?” Dean asks, unwillingly pulling his hand away from Castiel’s as he takes another drink of coffee and leans further onto the counter.

“Today at 5,” Cas replies sheepishly. “I completely forgot about it,” he admits with an impish grin.

Dean starts as he feels vibration in his pocket. Glancing at he caller-ID, that clenching feeling in his chest relaxes when he sees that it’s just Floyd, one of the supervisors of the job. For some reason, his initial knee-jerk reaction is always that it’s Sam.

“Floyd, hey buddy,” Dean says in a voice that he hopes doesn’t sound as contrived as it feels. He turns from facing Castiel as he listens to the man’s voice in his ear.

“You interested in some night work tonight? Time and a half,” he tacks on the bit at the end to make it a bit more enticing.

Dean grimaces at the thought of working the midnight shift, laying pipework by the street, but he really needs the money because no matter how broke it makes him, Dean has always sent Sam all the money he needs to stay in school.

“Listen, Dean,” Floyd continues when he senses Dean’s hesitation. “If you don’t say anything, I’ll pay you double time, I’m already three men short on tonight’s job and we’re running behind on schedule. I need you.” Dean rubs his hand down his face slowly with a quiet groan.

“Yeah, sure,” He assents.

“Thanks, man. I’ll see you at eleven.”

“Eleven, yeah,” Dean’s voice is apathetic

And the conversation ends. When Dean turns back to Castiel, the baker’s eyes are intently studying the legal pad before him which has much more writing on it now. But when he looks up to meet Dean’s gaze, Cas’ eyes are almost sad in the morning light of the bakery. “We both seem to be in high demand this Sunday morning,” Castiel quips quietly.

Dean rolls his eyes as he pulls up a stool from one of the high-top tables next to the pastry case. “We just had to pay Sam’s Stanford fees,” he explains as Cas refills his empty mug without a word. “My supervisor said he’d give me double time. I can’t say no to that.”

Pursing his lips as he nods, Castiel turns to replace the coffee pot, when Dean finally catches his eyes, they aren’t a million miles away like he’d seen the night before. They are intensely present as their frigid depths bore into what feels like his very soul. Dean has never felt so exposed. “I think it’s wonderful that you pay for Sam’s schooling,” Castiel begins with a warm smile.

Not knowing how to respond, Dean nods humbly. “He’s my little brother. I’m all he’s got,” he explains between sips of his second cup of coffee. “And he deserved better than what he’d been dealt up until he left for Stanford.”

“You mean your mother’s death,” Castiel doesn’t really understand why he is being so forward, but for some reason, he feels as though Dean’s hesitation to discuss himself is not due to his unwillingness to discuss the topic, but a certain amount of guilt that he can’t quite place, but is settled deeply into his sharp, green eyes.

Dean’s eyes cloud for a moment, “And everything with our Dad,” Dean divulges. “He wanted to open a construction business. Winchester & Sons,” Dean’s laugh is mirthless. “Not Winchester & Son.” Dean’s voice is a knife to Cas’ chest. “When Sam left, all of Dad’s plans for the future left with him.”

The bell above the door jingles just as Castiel opens his mouth. Dean quickly spins off the stool he was sitting on as a slender, young black haired woman eyes the two of them strangely. Her long, thick hair is pulled back into a treacherous bun with stray strands falling almost halfway down her back. “Good morning, Castiel,” She calls with a yawn. “And who’s this?” She adds when she catches sight of the stool and Dean studying the wall hangings intently.

“Meg,” Castiel keeps his voice warm as he eyes his cousin closely, rounding the counter to wrap her in a hug. He hadn’t known she was back in town. At the end of the day, no matter what he’d experienced himself, Meg is even more of a free spirit than he is; as a result, she blows into town and blows out like the warm breeze of a mid-summer’s evening, lingering just long enough to remind them how much they all would miss her when she left again.

“It’s good to see you too, Cas,” She says, tucking a piece of her hair that dislodged from her bun behind her ear. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not introducing me to him.” Nodding her head in Dean’s direction who looks over and finally admits defeat as he begins to walk towards the two of them.

“Dean Winchester,” He extends his hand towards the girl Cas referred to as Meg. Her stunning dark features twist conspiratorially. Her unexpectedly firm grip gives Dean the distinct feeling that he is being measured against some unknown ruler in this woman’s mind.

“Meg Novak,” Her voice is a laugh. “I’m Cas’ cousin,” she explains as Dean takes his place next to Castiel, once again feeling drawn towards the man; this doesn’t go unnoticed by Meg.

“Meg’s an angel name?” Dean asks questioningly, eliciting a loud laugh from Meg who vaults over the counter and begins rummaging in the pastry case.

“My aunt Ruth adopted Meg when she was twelve,” Castiel explains as they both watch the woman picking pieces off her pastry and delicately placing them in her mouth. 

After swallowing a large piece of cheese danish, Meg smiles darkly. “So no angel name for me... damn” her voice is mock disappointment and sounds like a really strange mix of Gabriel and Balthazar. It brings a smile to Dean’s face. “Plus, it wouldn’t really do me any justice.” Her eyes flare darkly and the grin she flashes is all white, gleaming teeth.

“Oh, really?” Dean challenges, never one to back down, he returns Meg’s dangerous smile to Castiel’s low laugh.

“Ok, you two,” Cas chides as he places a hand on Dean’s left shoulder, the other man leans gently into Castiel’s warm palm. “So how long are you back, Meg?” Castiel pours his cousin a cup of coffee and hands it to her as she continues to devour pastries.

She barely blows on the cup before taking a healthy gulp. “Probably until after the wedding,” she informs him as though she had just gone out of town for the weekend, when in reality no one had heard a word from her in two months. However, this certainly wasn’t new behavior. 

“Have you seen Uriel yet?” Cas asks with a concerned look on his face. He isn’t quite sure how Uriel is taking the stress from his upcoming wedding. Meg’s relationship with her brother had always been slightly tumultuous, much like Castiel’s with Michael and Raphael.

“I only just called Mom this morning, when I knew she’d be up for church.” Meg’s melodic voice sounds slightly bored with the subject as she begins to turn her attention more to Dean. “Now, you have some ‘splaining to do Castiel, what’s this bed-head creature doing in your bakery at nine am?” Meg keeps poking and prodding the issue.

Dean puts an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, his other hand slowly taking each of Cas’ fingers to intertwine them with his own. “Does that answer your question?” Dean provokes, with a frisky cock of his eyebrow.

It certainly answered some of Castiel’s.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the long time in between updates. I'm going through some pretty bad writer's block. Working through it though.**

* * *

 

Meg didn't stick around the bakery for long, muttering something about catching up with someone. Castiel is quite certain that she simply didn't want to run into Uriel in case he dropped by early. After placing a peck on Castiel's cheek and shooting Dean a sideways glance of approval, she sauntered out of the door and disappeared down the street.

Alone again, Dean sits on the stool in front of the counter and finds it difficult to make eye contact with the man on the other side, but he feels a smile curling the corners of his mouth, and the contented glint in Cas' eyes only makes him smile wider. He scoffs and looks down at the counter. "Sorry about that improvisation," He begins with his characteristic bravado, still looking at the wooden surface as he picks at a fraying string on the cuff of his plaid shirt, unable to fully place that jittery feeling currently ravaging his insides. He takes a sip of his now luke-warm coffee and curses silently as he sees that his hand is trembling slightly.

When Dean finally looks up, Castiel's eyes are watching him intently. With a small shake of his head, Cas breaks the silence. "I'm not," He reassures Dean, whose vivid green eyes spark in a way Castiel would never have dreamed possible, but before he can say anything more, the bell above the front door announces the arrival of another customer, and Castiel breaks eye contact reluctantly.

Dean once again flits away from the counter as Mr. Moore approaches the counter, but Castiel can't take his eyes off of Dean the entire time he is servicing the elderly gentleman. Even when Dean's back is turned, Castiel can't help but notice the breadth of his shoulders, and the rippling muscles in his back. As he waltzes around the bakery, Cas notices the precise nature of his gait around those beautiful bowlegs and he can't help but smile. His distraction does not go unnoticed by Mr. Moore, though he, very graciously, remains silent.

Once Mr. Moore has exited the bakery, Dean sidles up to the counter again. "Well..." He begins, looking up at Cas from under his lashes. "I gotta get home so I can crash and try to fix this hangover before I have to work tonight." His voice sounds reluctant, and he honestly doesn't want to leave the bakery in the slightest bit. The smell of pastries, baking bread and brewing coffee is intoxicating as it swirls around him, and just being around Castiel provides him with an unparalleled feeling of comfort that he doesn't want to let go of.

Cas nods slowly and purses his lips with a hint of disapproval which quickly melts away when Dean leans over the counter and places a kiss on them before turning and leaving the bakery in silence and Castiel's head spinning.

* * *

"Castiel!" Uriel's booming voice echoes from the front of the bakery to the back where Castiel is finishing the icing on his last sample cake. He sets aside his piping bag with a smile and turns to answer the call.

Uriel is standing in the middle of the shop with one arm around his fiancée's shoulder when Castiel finally exits the kitchen. He wipes his hands on the front of his apron before extending it towards his cousin. "Hello Uriel," He begins congenially. "Lynne," he nods towards the petite woman with the intense dark eyes. "How are you both doing?" Castiel motions towards one of the tables near the counter as he walks towards the front door.

"I never knew how much planning goes into a wedding," Uriel answers with a laugh as Castiel flips the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and locks the deadbolt.

Lynne elbows him playfully. "If I left it up to Uriel we would be going down to the courthouse, signing papers and finishing with a meal from the freezer at home." The warmth in the woman's tone is a bit unexpected for Cas who is used to a more stoic show of affection, but the impending nuptials seem to have brightened her spirits. Castiel feels himself slump as he relaxes; maybe she won't absolutely hate every one of the cakes Cas has prepared.

"Well, I hope what I've got prepared for both of you will be better than anything out of your freezer," Castiel quips. "I'll be right back. Take a seat."

With that, Cas quickly makes his way towards the kitchen where he has five different cakes lined up on the counter. He surveys the first in line with his critical eye and decides that he isn't quite happy with the colour of the icing, it's not quite that sunrise pink hue, but he picks it up nonetheless and carefully re-enters the shop.

"Okay," Cas begins with a smile in his tone as he sets the cake down between the two lovebirds. "This is a coconut cake, based loosely off a traditional Cambodian recipe, with an almond, vanilla buttercream frosting." The smug smile on Uriel's face as he cuts two small pieces reminds Castiel why he began doing all of this in the first place. There is something inordinately pleasing about appealing to a person's stomach.

The late afternoon sun silhouettes his cousin's large frame as he brings his fork to his mouth and closes his eyes with a contented 'mmmm.' Lynne's reaction is a bit more reserved as she cocks her eyebrow in contemplation, a small hint of a nod beginning.

"Mmm...yes," Lynne says non-commitally, taking another piece into her mouth. She cocks her head to the side, "I'm not even a big fan of coconut, to be honest, but this is wonderful. Don't you think so, dear?" She prompts Uriel whose mouth is currently filled with the last of his piece of cake. Castiel beams.

"Well, I have more," Castiel supplies warmly as he stands to get the next cake.

When he returns, Lynne is slapping Uriel's hand away from the rest of the cake sitting on the table. "This is an Italian amaretto cake with a white chocolate rum frosting," Castiel explains as he cuts two pieces.

Uriel's piece is barely in front of him by the time he's shoveling a morsel into his mouth. "Oh Lynne," He exclaims. "This one is divine."

After taking her bite, Lynne shrugs, "It's very rich," She critiques while taking a second bite. "But it certainly is delicious. I would just be concerned since we are having a full meal at the reception," She states regarding its richness.

"Shall we continue?" Castiel asks while Lynne is again scolding Uriel for eating more cake.

"Yes, Cas, we'll continue," She shoots her fiancé a no nonsense expression and he puts his fork back onto the table with a sheepish look at Castiel.

In the end, Lynne vetoes Uriel's votes for the amaretto cake and they decide on the coconut after all. By the time they leave, Castiel has five half eaten cakes before him and he is absolutely exhausted. In the waning light of the late afternoon, Cas boxes up the remainder of the cakes with a smile; he knows exactly what to do with these.

* * *

There is a restlessness that Cas feels fluttering inside him, and it's slightly unsettling. And it's not until he mounts the stairs to his apartment, opens his door and sees his grimy trainers that he realises he hasn't gone for a run. A contented smile curls at the corners of his lips as he strips down to his undergarments and quickly pulls on a pair of running shorts and a light-weight, breathable technical shirt he retrieved from the top drawer of his dresser.

This is the first time he's been upstairs all day, and even though he feels his bed beckoning him, he merely sits on the edge as he pulls his running shoes towards him and slides his feet into them. The shoes fit like a glove after all the miles he's put in with them. The arch support is beginning to go a little, but he shrugs it off as he stands, redistributing his weight onto both feet.

Castiel has a discernible bounce in his step as he bounds down the stairs from his apartment onto the early evening street. A few people can be seen milling about outside the small Mom & Pop restaurant one block from the bakery, as Castiel jogs by at his warm-up pace, he receives a few warm waves from the patrons.

The air is cooling down rapidly as dusk approaches, and Castiel realises that he has absolutely no idea where he is going on this run or even how far. Technically, Sunday is his rest day, but the moment the idea of a run came into his mind, he knew he couldn't keep himself from lacing up those trainers and hitting the streets.

The staccato of his breathing falls into its normal rhythm and the pounding of his shoes on the pavement indicate that he is comfortably in his pace. He could go on like this for hours.

The lights are off in Dean's yellow townhouse when Castiel breezes past, and the feeling that wells up in his stomach at the sight of that '67 Chevy Impala is so indescribable that he has to avert his eyes before a stupid, goofy grin spreads all the way across his face. He focuses on increasing his pace to a comfortable tempo as he runs aimlessly into the evening.

If it had been earlier, Cas would run the Twin Rivers Trail, but after the long day of nursing his hangover while working, he doesn't think he's up to a long night run; and anyway he didn't bring his head-lamp. So he just continues on Main Street until he is completely out of the city limits and all he can hear is the loud buzzing of cicadas and the occasional swoosh of a car passing accompanied by a pleasing gust of cool air.

His legs feel great, if Cas is honest. Usually, as the summer draws to a close, Castiel's legs are feeling pretty beaten and bruised after countless miles in stifling heat cramped them up on a regular basis, but this summer was better than most, which is a good thing, he remarks to himself, since this was the summer before his first Boston Marathon.

He'd qualified the year before at a small marathon in a town just over from his; in all actuality he had destroyed the course record by over twelve minutes, putting in his first sub-3 hr. time. He smiles to himself as he remembers pumping his fists in the air as he crossed the finish line to the cheers of the crowd around him. Even though Cas loves to train because of the solitude, there is nothing like the atmosphere of a race, the air buzzing with adrenaline and excitement.

By the time the sky has faded into a dusty, soft purplish blue, Castiel decides that he's gone far enough and turns around to begin his trek home. Out and back runs are pretty boring, but Cas tries to stay grounded in the moment by focusing on his feet hitting the pavement. Left, right, left, right.

The peaceful sound could put him to sleep.

* * *

In fact, when Castiel finally makes it back to his apartment, he collapses onto his bed, over the covers and falls immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

After an indiscernible amount of utter blackness, Castiel begins to hear stirrings of sounds. He can hear his deep breathing, in and out, harmonizing with the sound of his feet on gravel. There is a murmuring around him as he suddenly notices the throngs of people lining the path he is running on. As he stumbles forward, tripping on each small rock in his way, the people cover their mouth and whisper to one another as they stare.

On his left, a face keeps appearing and disappearing in the crowd; a chills runs down his spine as he recognizes the dark brown eyes, almost black, staring, unblinking at him as he struggles to put one foot in front of the other.

When all the faces instantly morph into Joshua's pensive visage, Castiel wakes violently to a hard knocking at his door. He takes a shaky breath as he tries to pull himself out of the pit of his nightmare. He realises that he is still in his running clothes, and a glace in the mirror above his dresser confirms that his hair is wildly unkempt.

As the pounding continues, he shuffles towards his front door, keenly aware that his stomach is tightening with a tiny bit of anxiety. The wooden floor is cold under his bare feet and he grounds himself in the feeling as he places a hand on the cool door handle.

The sight of Dean Winchester standing on his landing only knots his stomach even more as he feels his mouth fall slightly open in incomprehension. He has no idea what time it is.

"Dean..." Castiel begins, and his voice is much breathier and decidedly weaker than he intended. Before Cas can even ask what the man is doing on his doorstep in the middle of the night, his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Dean lunges forward into the apartment and locks his lips onto Castiel's who is stunned into silence and completely unable to move. He clenches his fist as a flash of Joshua's face clouds his mind, but Dean's lips slowly massage away that memory and Castiel feels himself descend into a calm peace as Dean rakes his fingers through his hair.

Tentatively, Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's muscular body, who then moans into their kiss, kicking the door closed with his sturdy work boot as he pushes Castiel backwards further into the apartment. Their ragged breathing and the sound of their tongues crashing together resonates through the small space and wipes all coherent thought from Cas' mind.

Dean finally disengages his mouth from Castiel's and puts their foreheads together, his hand on the back of the other man's neck. "I was laying in bed," Dean begins, his breathing slightly labored, and his pupils blown. "And all I could think about was you."

Closing his eyes as a smile slowly tugs at the corner of his mouth, Castiel places a soft kiss on Dean's lips; he wants to say something, anything, but his mind is a white nothingness of desire, completely transfixed by the perfect feeling of Dean's hands on his body. "I thought you had to work," He finally manages.

Gently guiding Castiel towards his couch, Dean shakes his head. "It's raining," He explains with an impish grin. "And I love you, Castiel Milton." Dean's eyes are terrifyingly serious as he stares into Castiel's. Cas inhales a ragged breath as he feels a wave of emotion crash over him. He places his hands on either side of Dean's face and Dean kisses him sweetly. Again and again and again.

As they lower themselves down onto the couch, Dean stops for a moment. "I'm about 95% shit, Cas," He warns; his voice is plaintive and sorrowful. "But you make me want to be a better man."

After that, there really was nothing more to add.


End file.
